The Nameless One
by Elf Eye
Summary: Legolas goes on a quest to find out who he truly is. Repost broken into chapters.
1. Birth and Death

**Chapter 1**

**Birth and Death__**

When Thranduil heard the door open, he wearily raised his head from the map he was studying, but he laughed softly when he realized that the intruder was Laurëlassë.  No matter how out-of-sorts he was, he never failed to feel pleasure at the arrival of his Queen.  As King, he had been guided by his advisors, particularly his Seneschal Gilglîr, when it came time to take a wife, but his alliance with this Noldo woman from afar must have had the blessing of the Valar, so much joy had it brought him.  "And now," he thought with satisfaction, "I am soon to be a father as well as a husband.  Nothing could mar my happiness."  

 "This day you have not paused to eat, Thranduil.  I have brought you something to sup on."

"Im gwennin le, Laurëlassë."

"You are quite welcome, Thranduil."  The Queen settled herself on some cushions near the window.  As Thranduil ate, his eyes kept straying to her rounded belly.  He still felt wonder at the thought of the child who rested there.  Laurëlassë caught his glance and smiled.

"We should choose a name for this child," murmured Laurëlassë.

            "Yes," said Thranduil, putting on a serious expression.  "Indeed, I have given the matter much thought.  I believe that the name Amlugthul would be suitable."

            "Dragon-breath!"

            "Is that not a powerful name, my Lady?"

            "Thranduil!"

            "No?  Then what of the name Corchlîr?"

            "Crow-song?  I think not, Thranduil."

            "Ah, I have it.  Ungolhen.  Surely our child shall have excellent vision."

            "Our child will not be named Spider-eye!"

            "Hmm, would Ryncarag meet with your approval?

            "Hound-tooth is not as bad as Spider-eye," conceded Laurëlassë, "but perhaps your next suggestion will be better." 

            "You are very hard to please," said Thranduil with mock severity.  "I have suggested all these lovely names, and not one has found favor.  I am almost out of ideas.  Let me think."

            Thranduil wrinkled his brow as he pretended to ponder.  "Ai," he sighed. "The only other name I can think of is Laiqualassë.  If that does not meet with your approval, then I am afraid our child shall have to go nameless!"

            "Laiqualassë?"

            "Yes, my Laurëlassë.  You are my beloved Goldenleaf; this child of ours shall be my equally beloved Greenleaf.  Would that satisfy you, Laurëlassë Gûr-norn!?" 

"But such a formal name for a little one," said Laurëlassë the Hard-hearted, pretending to be critical.

"I can answer that objection.  For everyday use we may call the child Legolas.  But in the High-Elven he shall be known as Laiqualassë."

Laurëlassë feigned reluctant acquiescence.  "As you wish, my Lord.  I suppose there are worse names than Laiqualassë."

"Such as Amlugthul?" teased Thranduil.

"A Elbereth, Dragon-breath!  What a silly notion, Thranduil!"

At that moment the Seneschal entered the room, having just returned from an inspection of the kingdom's defenses.

"Mae govannen, Gilglîr.  You arrive at a most fortunate moment.  The Queen and I have just settled upon a name for the child."

"I am glad to hear that, my Lord."

"Yes.  In Quenya the child shall be known as Laiqualassë; in Sindarin, Legolas."

"Greenleaf?"  Gilglîr smiled knowingly.  Of course Thranduil would pattern the child's name upon that of his beloved Laurëlassë.

"No doubt the name shall prove to be a fitting one, my Lord and Lady."

"See," said Thranduil triumphantly.  "Gilglîr approves, and I trust his judgment in all matters."

Laurëlassë laughed as she arose.  "I will leave you two to discuss the recent incursion of spiders from the south of Greenwood.  Gilglîr, you may be thankful that I did not give way when Thranduil suggested the name Ungolhen."

Gilglîr grimaced.  "Indeed, my Lady!  There are quite enough spider eyes in the realm as it is!"

Two months had passed since Thranduil and Laurëlassë had chosen a name for their child, and the court healer was visiting the Queen to check on the progress of her pregnancy.

"All seems well, my Lady.  I would estimate another month."

Laurëlassë sighed.  "Short as that may seem, I wonder how I shall endure it!  No, do not be alarmed!  I feel little discomfort, but Thranduil becomes more and more anxious with the passage of each day.  Tell me, Healer, is it absolutely necessary for me to avoid all exertion?  Thranduil seems to believe that I will hurt myself merely by walking within my chambers."

"Would that all husbands were so solicitous!" smiled the healer.  "But, no, it is not necessary for you to forgo all exercise.  Indeed, it would be best if you remained reasonably active, and I will tell the King so."

"Ah, thank you, Healer.  For I long to wander about.  From my window I can see patches of elanor and eirien in bloom, and this very day I desire to go out and pick some to decorate my room."

"The gathering of flowers would be an eminently suitable occupation.  I shall speak to the King at once."

Shortly thereafter the Queen, accompanied by one maidservant, sallied forth from the Hall to meander in the warm sun that filled a nearby clearing.  Occasionally stooping with great care to pluck blossoms, she had passed nearly the entire afternoon outside by the time she had come close to filling her basket.   The Queen was getting ready to pick one last bunch of elanor when she noticed the nínim and mallos growing just within the shadow of the forest.

"My Lady, the sun begins to set.  We should return to the Hall."

"Yes, but first I will gather some of the flowers that grow over there in the shade.  They are such delicate beauties."

Enjoying the last rays of the waning sun, Laurëlassë strolled slowly toward the edge of the forest.  Her maidservant, who did not share her enthusiasm for flowers, loitered behind.

Upon reaching the trees, Laurëlassë put down the basket and gently lowered herself onto a mossy patch.  She had been confined within for so long that she was not eager to go back to the Hall.  The sky began to turn golden and red as the sun sank below the horizon.  The Queen sighed, knowing that she could delay no longer.

It was then that Laurëlassë heard the hissing and the snapping.

Thranduil was trying to complete a letter to Lord Celeborn of Lothlórien in which he was detailing the alarming increase in the number of spiders over the past few months.  He was at a loss to understand what was causing the creatures to multiply.  Every day his warriors eradicated nests.  Yet for all the efforts of his warriors, the scouts continued to locate additional nests.  Moreover, the creatures' lairs were being found increasingly further north, closer to the settlements near the Hall.  Thranduil shuddered to think what might happen if the spiders ever drew within striking distance of the Hall itself.

Thranduil put down his pen in irritation.  How was he to concentrate on this letter when there was such a hubbub outside!?  Angrily, he shoved his chair back and strode to the window.  Elves were hastening toward the Hall, shouting as they ran.   One of them carried a bundle—no, not a bundle but a person who rested limply in the Elf's arms, head lolling, arms and legs dangling.   Laurëlassë!

Thranduil met the Elves at the door of his wife's room.  "Has someone sent for the healer!?"

"Yes, my Lord.  He was summoned straightaway."

The Elves laid the Queen upon her bed.  She was conscious, but barely so.

"What befell the Queen!?"

"She was resting by the forest.  As the sun set, spiders swarmed down from the trees!"

The healer pushed through the throng that had gathered outside the door.

"Is it true that the Queen has been attacked by spiders!?"

"Yes.  Healer, you **must help her!"**

The Queen moaned and writhed.  She opened her eyes.  Although dazed, she seemed to be somewhat aware of what was happening about her.  Quickly the healer examined her.

"My Lord, she has been bitten several times.  Most grown elves, although they would be sickened by the venom, would be able to fight it off with time.  The Queen, however, has been sent into labor by the shock of the attack.  That may be fortunate for the child, if it be born before the venom can reach it through the mother's blood.  For the Queen, however, this is not so fortunate.  I am not sure she will be able to survive labor whilst weakened by spider venom."

"Can you not give her something to quiet her labor."

"Yes, therein lies hope—at least for the Queen.  I can administer a potion that may cause her labor to cease.  The infant, however…."

"You will save the Queen.  Administer the potion."

"NO!"

 Dazed as she was, Laurëlassë pushed herself up on one of her elbows.

"Healer, you will help me deliver this child before the poison can scathe it."

"But my Lady…."

"I will swallow no potion that will bring harm to my child!"

"Laurëlassë…."

"I will swallow no potion, nothing!"

Thranduil continued to plead with Laurëlassë, but she was unyielding.  At last the healer sighed and said, "I fear too much time has now passed for the potion to be of any use.  This birth must now take place; there is no turning back."

In the end it was as the healer feared.  The infant was delivered, but the mother survived only long enough to murmur a farewell to the child.

"Laiqualassë," she said softly, "you will be your Ada's beloved little Greenleaf."

Devastated, Thranduil stood by the marriage bed.  His son had been conceived and born in it, but his wife had died in it.  And each year, the day that marked his son's birth would likewise be the anniversary of his wife's death.  He did not think he could bear this; immortality had suddenly become an insupportable burden, holding nothing but a sorrow that he would carry all the endless days of his life.

The healer fumbled for a way to comfort him.  "My Lord, you must be grateful that your son was not lost to the spiders as well."

"**Must I?  I do not see that I ****must be grateful for that.  Had she survived, my wife might have given me many sons.  I do not see why this one had to survive, the price being so high."**

"My Lord…."

"Be silent!  I do not wish to speak of this matter ever again!"

Gilglîr quietly slipped into the room, accompanied by the woman who would serve as the infant's nursemaid.

"My Lord, I hope you will find this woman suitable as caregiver for your son."

"It matters not.  Choose whom you will."

The woman addressed him then.  "My Lord, what is the name of this child?"

Thranduil ignored her.  Softly, Gilglîr said to her, "Laiqualassë in Quenya; Legolas in Sindarin."

The nursemaid again tried to address the King.  "My Lord, may I call him Laiqua, as the other names are mouthfuls for a little one?"

"Woman, do not speak to me of him!  I do not wish to hear his name uttered.  Call him what you will!"

Thranduil stalked out of the chamber of birth and death.  Five years would pass before he would see his son again.


	2. Unexpected Journey

**Chapter 2**

**Unexpected Journey__**

Laiqua smiled with pride.  He had shot off ten arrows, and seven had hit the target.  Yesterday only six had struck home!  He ran forward to retrieve his shafts.  After he did so, he looked with longing into the woods that surrounded the clearing in which he was allowed to play.  His friend Tathar was permitted in the forest on occasion.  It was true that Tathar had to keep within shouting distance of a grown Elf when he ventured into the trees, but at least he was given the chance to explore a little bit.  While he, Laiqua, could not even wander under the shadow of a tree without drawing a rebuke from his Edwen Nana.  Maybe that was it: If he had a Naneth instead of an Edwen Nana, would he be permitted in the forest?

At least he was allowed to climb that one particular tree that stood closest to the cottage.  This was a tree his Edwen Nana could spot from each and every window.  But if Nana saw him so much as putting his hand on the trunk of another tree, she would be out the door in a trice, scolding him gently but firmly.

Nana didn't know it (or so Laiqua thought) but there were occasions when he had stepped a few feet into the forest.  If he thought that his Edwen Nana was sufficiently distracted, he would try to slip away.  Strangely, though, whenever he had done so, tall, intimidating Elves would suddenly appear directly in front of him.  Armed with swords as well as bows, these Elves would block his path, staring levelly at him until he retreated into the clearing.  Laiqua did not understand why these Elves always seemed to materialize in his path.  Tathar had never encountered any such Elves whilst in the woods.  Laiqua wished he could ask his Edwen Nana about them, but of course if he did so he would have to admit that he had been trying to sneak into the forest.  Laiqua could hear her calling him now.  Wistful but obedient, he left off peering into the shadows under the trees and ran to the cottage.

"Time for your supper, Laiqua.  Are your hands clean?"

He held up his hands for her inspection.  Shaking her head, she looked bemusedly at them.  "How you manage to keep so clean I will never know.  Perhaps an enchantment was laid upon you at birth.  Well, sit thee down."

After supper, he played for a while in his bed with whittled animals whilst his Nana worked on embroidering a tunic she had made for him.  She was taking unusual care with this garment.  She had started to sew it the day after that messenger had arrived bearing a letter with a most elaborate seal.  The messenger reminded Laiqua of the Elves who haunted the forest—just as tall, just as intimidating.  He was dressed in identical garb as well—green tunic, brown leggings.

"Look, Laiqua.  I have finished your tunic."  Nana came to sit beside him on the bed.  "See, here is Cabor the Frog.  And there are Hu the Dog, Rusc the Fox, and Draug the Wolf.   Brôg the Bear and Raw the Lion are growling at each other on this side.  On this sleeve is Amlug the Dragon, and on that sleeve is Limlug the Serpent.  If you look hard, you also will find Roch the Horse and Amras the Deer.  And if you look very, very hard, you will find many, many birds, for I know that you love winged creatures above all."

            Laiqua traced a finger over the garment.  "Oh, yes, here is Cugu the Dove, and there is Thoron the Eagle.  Oh, I see Tavor the Woodpecker, too!  And there is Gwael the Gull!"  Laiqua had never seen a Gull, but he recognized it from pictures in books.  He became engrossed in searching through the intricate embroidery.  He managed to find Alph the Swan and Corch the Crow and Dúlinthe Nightingale, but he was still looking for Tuilinn the Swallow and Heledir the Kingfisher when he fell asleep clutching the tunic.

When Laiqua awoke the next morning, he saw his Edwen Nana searching through his wardrobe.  An open pack, partly filled, sat on the table.

"What are you doing, Nana?"

"You are going on a journey.   I am choosing some clothes for you."

"A journey!" Laiqua leaped to his feet and bounced on the bed in his excitement.  His nursemaid smiled.  She held up Roch, his well-worn stuffed horse.

"Oh, no, Nana, don't pack that!  I'm too big for stuffed toys."

"Indeed?"  The nursemaid put it aside, but when Laiqua was not looking she slipped it into the pack.

"Where are we going, Nana?"

"You are traveling to see your Adar."

"My Adar?"

"Yes, your Adar."

"**I have an Adar?"  This was news to Laiqua.**

His Nana paused to consider.  "We-ell," she said slowly.  "You know that your friend Tathar lives with a lady who is his Naneth?"

 "Yes, and I had a Naneth, too, but she died.  Which is why I have an Edwen Nana instead!"  Laiqua delivered this observation in a carefree tone of voice.  Since he had never known his mother, he could not truly be said to miss her—not when his Nana had raised him with such devotion.

"You also know that the man who lives with Tathar and his Naneth is Tathar's Adar.  In truth, Tathar is not the only child to have an Adar.  Most Elflings begin life with both a Naneth and an Adar."

Laiqua was surprised but also pleased.  He had often envied the attention that Tathar received from the man he called 'Ada'.  Kind as his Nana was, she fell short in certain areas, most notably in archery.  Perhaps his Adar would help him to improve his grip, just as Tathar's Ada helped Tathar with his woodcarving.

"Now I will help you pack **your bag, Nana."**

"No, no, Laiqua.  That won't be necessary.  Here, put your tunic on."

Laiqua lifted up his arms, and she slipped the new garment onto him.  Then she carefully undid his braids, combed out his hair, and rebraided it.  By the time she had finished, Laiqua was wriggling with impatience.  His nursemaid laughed and fondly swatted his bottom.

"I suppose you are too excited to eat.  Very well, you may go outside, but at least take this bit of bread to nibble on.  And do keep your tunic clean—although I don't suppose I need to tell you **that**."

"May I practice with my bow?"

"Yes, Laiqua."

Laiqua was almost out the door when she called him back to her.  She flung her arms around him and squeezed.

Laiqua protested. "Nana!  I'm too big for that!"

Nana seemed to laugh at that but to cry at the same time.  Laiqua was bewildered.  His Nana was certainly acting oddly.

"You be good and you be brave."

"Nana, I'm always good—almost—and of course I'll be brave.  You know that I am going to be a great warrior!"

Nana laughed and sobbed a little more, but at last she reluctantly let him run out to play.

Laiqua was jubilant.  He had just succeeded in hitting the target ten times in a row.  He had never done that before.  He was about to call out for Nana to come see when he heard the sounds of hooves.  Elves on horseback rarely came this close to the clearing.  He dropped his bow and scrambled up his tree to get a better look.  To his astonishment, directly underneath him a company of riders broke into the clearing.  He flattened himself as much as possible onto a limb, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible.  Something about these riders bothered him.  Their movements were so forceful and abrupt, unlike those of his gentle Nana.  And they were armed and garbed like the Elves who hid in the woods.

His Nana came out from the house.  She handed up Laiqua's belongings to one of the riders.

"Where is the prince?" demanded the leader of the company.

"The prince?" wondered Laiqua.

His Nana looked up into the tree.  The leader's eyes followed hers, and he spotted Laiqua.  Reining his horse about, he rode under the limb, reached up, and pulled the Elfling down, settling him on the horse before him.  Then, without any further words, he spurred his horse from the clearing.

Laiqua was too stunned to move for several seconds, but at last twisted about to look behind him, to make sure that his Nana was following.  He did not see her.

"Stop! Stop! You're forgetting my Nana!"

"I have orders to bring you and only you."

Laiqua began to whimper.  He would never have allowed this Elf to catch him if he had known that Nana would not be coming with him.

"You shouldn't cry.  Your Adar won't want a prince who cries."

Laiqua looked up hopefully.  "If I cry, my Adar will send me home?"

The leader laughed grimly.  "No, if you cry, your Adar may give you something to cry about.  Indeed, knowing your Adar, he will surely give you something to cry about."

Back in the clearing, Laiqua's Nana bent down and picked up the discarded bow.  Hugging it close, she stumbled back into the silent cottage.

Laiqua was tired.  He had always wanted to go on a journey, but jouncing along in the company of a taciturn Elf was not what he had imagined.  Would they never stop to rest?  His every muscle ached.  At last it appeared as if he might get his wish.  The leader called the company to a halt.  But they did not dismount.  Instead, they seemed to be waiting for someone.  After a wearisome while, a rider approached them from the opposite direction from which they had been traveling.  They were nearing an area where spiders had been previously sighted, and a scout had been sent ahead to reconnoiter.  He brought bad news.

"Captain, there are indeed numerous spider nests in our path, and they stretch far both to the east and the west.  I judge it would take a journey of many days to bypass them altogether."

The leader considered for a while.  Finally he spoke.  "We are a large company, and the spiders have not yet attacked folk so well defended.  We will continue on this path.  But I want bows strung and swords loosened in their sheaths."

"You," he added to Laiqua, "lay down against the neck of the horse.  Make yourself as small as you can and do not lift your head until I tell you to."

Laiqua did as he was told, and the company proceeded in absolute silence, each rider keeping one hand on a weapon.  From time to time hissing and snapping noises could be heard, and occasionally they would be showered by bark and leaves as something moved in the branches above.  But no creatures assailed them, and after several tense hours, the scout told them that they were clear of the nests.  By then Laiqua was so stiff from holding himself rigidly against the horse's neck that the leader had to help him sit back up again.

Long after passing the spiders, the company at last came to a halt.  They had traveled both day and night, and it was now near dawn.  The leader slid off his horse and then reached up and pulled Laiqua down, setting him on his feet.

"We are quite near to the King's Hall.  It is time that you were made presentable."   Instead of reaching into Laiqua's bundle for a clean garment, the leader unbuckled a saddlebag and pulled out a green tunic of fine silk elaborately embroidered in gold thread and decorated with pearls and gems.

"Take off that old tunic."

"This is not an old tunic!  My Nana made it special for me, and she only finished it a day ago."

The leader made an impatient gesture.  "By the Valar!  What have I done to deserve this assignment!?  I would rather battle a hundred Orcs than escort one baby prince!"

Stung at being called a baby, Laiqua resentfully pulled off his tunic.  The leader snatched it from him and tossed it aside.

"Hold out your arms."

Laiqua did so and allowed himself to be garbed in the fancy surcoat, scowling all the while.  He thought that the garment did not fit him as well as his Nana's tunic had.  It was much too big!  Then the leader reached back into the saddlebag and pulled out a golden diadem that he placed on Laiqua's head.  After surveying the results for several moments, he said with a snort, "Now the King may be able to recognize his son."

            The leader mounted his horse, and Laiqua was handed up to him.  As they began to ride on, Laiqua remembered his Nana's tunic.  He squirmed about and saw that it was being trampled by the riders following the lead horse.

            "My tunic!  You've forgotten my tunic!"

            "You will have more tunics than you can count once you reach the King's Hall."

            "I want **that tunic."  Laiqua began to sob outright.**

            "Do I have to remind you that if you cry, your Adar…."

            Laiqua stopped weeping before the leader could finish the sentence.


	3. First Impressions

**Chapter 3**

**First Impressions**

The sun was rising as they dismounted before the entrance to the King's Hall. Waiting for them was a slender, smiling Elf who nodded encouragingly to Laiqua. His spirits rose for the first time since he'd been pulled from his tree. Was this his Adar? In spite of the leader's ominous words, this Elf looked as kind as Tathar's Ada, maybe kind enough to let Nana join him if Laiqua explained how much he missed her. The leader approached the smiling Elf.

"Seneschal Gilglîr, we have brought back the King's son, as commanded. Should we escort him to the King himself?"

"No, I will present him. You may stand down."

"Thank you, Seneschal."

So this was not his Adar. But if the King had chosen such a kind-looking Seneschal, perhaps the monarch would be a kind man himself.

"Come, young prince. Your Adar wishes to meet you." The Seneschal gestured for Laiqua to precede him, which struck Laiqua as odd—he did not know the way! But the Seneschal gently directed him by tapping him on a shoulder to indicate when he was to turn down a new corridor. At last they came to a door that led into an enormous room. On the far side of the room sat an imposing Elf in a large, ornate chair that rested on a dais. This, Laiqua knew instantly, was the King. He was not smiling, but he was not frowning, either. At either side of him, at a respectful distance, stood his advisors, all just as expressionless as their King.

As Laiqua gazed with interest at his Adar, the Seneschal studied the King no less intently. Gilglîr prayed that this meeting between the King and his son would go well. It had been at the Seneschal's urging that Thranduil had sent for Laiqua. For five years the King had refused to issue any orders concerning his son and heir. It had been Gilglîr who had sent books to Laiqua so that he would gain a rudimentary acquaintance with his letters. Gilglîr was also the one who ordered that bolts of cloth be delivered to Laiqua's Edwen Nana so that she might sew garments to replace the ones he had outgrown. Indeed, it had been Gilglîr who had ordered that warriors be posted in the woods around the cottage where the nursemaid had taken up residence with the child.

"The Ernil-neth, my Lord." The King inclined his head slightly but said nothing. After a long moment, Gilglîr quietly prompted Laiqua to move forward. When they were a half dozen feet from the throne, Gilglîr pressed Laiqua's shoulder gently, then backed away, leaving Laiqua standing alone before the King.

The King still had said nothing. The pause grew awkward for Laiqua, who found that his legs were beginning to tremble as he stood before his silent Adar. For all his efforts, he could not stop a few tears from springing to his eyes. He tried hard to blink them back. The King, however, noticed and at last broke his silence. "By the Valar!" the King snapped. "That wretched hên-elleth has babied him. Well, there will be no more of **that. If you cry…."**

"…you will give me something to cry about," finished Laiqua.

The onlookers gasped. The King looked at Laiqua with irritation, but Laiqua stared back at him innocently. Grumbled the King, "That was not what I intended to say. I merely wished to remind you that if you cry, you will make yourself ill—and you are not to expect sympathy from the servants if you do so! Where, Gilglîr, did he acquire such a notion? Has that woman poisoned his mind against me!?"

The Seneschal made a noncommittal gesture. "No doubt he overheard and misunderstood some idle gossip—perhaps from one of the escort." Privately Gilglîr determined to have a word with the captain.

The King returned his attention to Laiqua, frowning at him. "Why does he cringe so!? Has that woman raised my son raised a coward!" No one spoke in reply. 

After another awkward pause, the King turned to an elderly Elf who stood nearest to him. "I am afraid, Tutor, that your charge's upbringing thus far has been in the hands of an uncouth person of common stock. You may experience some initial difficulties. Be assured, however, that I will reward you well for undertaking the education and training of my—of the Prince."

Glancing doubtfully at Laiqua, the tutor bowed to the King. "Thank you, my Lord. I will do my best to make him a credit to your court."

The King grimaced and shook his head, as if he thought it unlikely that the tutor could accomplish such a miracle.

Laiqua's first day in his new home was a dreary one. First, the tutor led Laiqua to his room. Every thing about the room was big—the chamber itself, the table, the chair, the wardrobe, the bed. Indeed, when Laiqua stood by this latter piece of furniture, he found that his head only reached as high as the bottom of the mattress, and he wondered how he was supposed to climb atop at bedtime.

Meanwhile, the tutor opened Laiqua's pack and began to sort through his clothes. He discovered much that displeased him.

"No, no, this garment won't do at all. The weave of this cloth is far too coarse." The tutor tossed the tunic onto the floor and pulled out another one.

"Hmm, the cloth is of better quality, but the embroidery is not in the latest style. One would think it had been stitched in the First Age!" Down went the second tunic.

In short order, two sets of leggings and a third tunic joined the growing pile on the floor. As the elderly Elf was pulling a nightshirt out of the pack, Laiqua spotted the stuffed horse. He felt sudden joy. Just as quickly, however, he felt deep pain. Surely he would not be permitted to keep such a shabby toy. He glanced up at his tutor, who was absorbed in muttering about how Laiqua's wardrobe was "unsuitable for a prince of his standing." Swiftly Laiqua reached into the pack, grabbed the horse, dropped it on the floor, and kicked it under the bed.

At last the Elf had finished sorting through Laiqua's clothing. He reluctantly allowed Laiqua to keep two tunics, two sets of leggings, and one nightshirt—"just so you have something to wear while your new clothes are being sewn. Then these will make serviceable cleaning rags for the housemaids!"

After his tutor had sorted through his clothes, Laiqua was taken to be fitted for new ones. As he stood with arms outstretched, his belly began to rumble. The tutor looked scandalized, as if it were somehow Laiqua's fault that no one had thought to ask whether he had had any breakfast.

Lunch Laiqua ate in his room under the eye of his tutor, who did not himself join in the meal. Nor did he chatter with Laiqua, as his Nana always had. Instead, the tutor used the time to instruct Laiqua on how to hold each utensil. It was hard for Laiqua to eat with someone watching his every bite. Supper, however, was going to be worse, Laiqua feared. His tutor told him that he would be expected to eat at the table of the King in a room that would be filled with courtiers. "You will be expected to dress for supper," the tutor informed him. Laiqua thought this to be an odd admonition, as he always came to the table with his clothes on.

After lunch Laiqua was told that he might play quietly by himself for a time, but, having no toy other than the hidden Roch, he was forced to content himself with looking out the widow. Then, when the tutor returned after an hour, Laiqua had to accompany him to the library. This, the tutor informed him, was where he would have his lessons each day. Laiqua had loved pouring over his books, which were filled with fascinating stories and pictures, and he had been thrilled to realize that, if he matched sounds with letters, he himself could piece out the words. However, the tomes that the tutor stacked before him did not look at all interesting. Still, Laiqua noticed on the shelves several volumes with fascinating titles, and he timidly asked the tutor if he might be allowed to take one or two to his room, to read in his spare time. The older Elf looked astonished. Peering down at his charge, he spluttered, "You are much too young to be entrusted with books as valuable as these!" Laiqua reminded himself of his secret toy and resolved to find a way to spirit away a volume.

The tutor gave an equally unsatisfactory answer to the next question that Laiqua ventured to ask. He wondered whether he might have a bow and be permitted to practice at archery. The elderly Elf haughtily informed Laiqua that as tutor he himself had nothing to do with weapons training and knew naught of any plans for such instruction. This crushing reply nearly caused Laiqua to give way to forbidden tears, but he calmed himself by resolving to speak to the Seneschal at the first opportunity. The Elfling sensed that Gilglîr would be sympathetic and might intervene on his behalf.

After outlining for Laiqua all the subjects that he would be expected to master, the tutor led the Elfling back to his room, where he 'dressed' for dinner. As Laiqua was already wearing his only acceptable garment, the silk tunic in which he had been presented to the King, dressing consisted merely of washing his face and hands, tidying his hair, and reassuming the diadem that he had been allowed to set aside after lunch.

Supper threatened to be as much of a trial as Laiqua had feared. First, he had to make an entrance. With his tutor behind him hissing instructions, Laiqua knew to stop just inside the door of the dining hall. A herald announced that the Ernil-neth had arrived. Of course, thought Laiqua, everyone could see perfectly well that he had arrived. Still, the announcement apparently could not be omitted. At this introduction, all the courtiers arose at their seats and bowed, and Laiqua had to bow back—but not too deeply. His tutor surreptitiously seized the back of Laiqua's tunic when his bow threatened to turn into something more than the subtle inclination of his head.

Laiqua next had to 'stride forcefully but gracefully' to the King's table. The tutor had been very particular about this phrase, repeating it again and again as he escorted his charge through the corridors that led to the dining hall. As a result, Laiqua was of course unable to walk with either the required force or the required grace. But, in spite of his nervousness, he somehow managed not to trip or collapse into a shameful heap.

Once he reached his place at the table, Laiqua bowed to the king—deeply this time—and it was now the King who subtly inclined his head in return. Then and only then could the Elfling take his seat. To Laiqua's relief the remainder of the meal was not outright unpleasant—until the very end, that is. After food was placed before him, Laiqua was happy to be ignored for the most part. Neither his Adar nor his tutor nor any other member of the court tried to engage him in conversation. It was clear that he was merely required to be seen, not heard. It was not even necessary for him to address the servants because he did not eat or drink enough for them to approach him in order to replenish his plate or his cup. He did, however, sense that his Adar would be displeased at his lack of appetite, so whenever the King's eyes were turned in his direction, he made haste to push something into his mouth—but 'gracefully', so as not to attract the attention of his tutor. And thus he tried to fend off both these Elves his first night in the King's Hall.

Laiqua's departure from the dining hall was only a little less elaborate than his arrival. After a seemingly endless number of dishes had been delivered and removed from the table, Laiqua whispered to his tutor that he really needed to leave the hall momentarily, but he was informed that he could not do so until the King had arisen and made his exit. Dismayed, Laiqua resolved to drink even less during future meals. For now, though, he suspected that wriggling would be frowned upon, and he frantically tried to sit as still as possible, which was not very still at all. Increasingly, the eyes of both the King and the tutor were upon the little Elfling.

At last the King arose. As one, all other occupants of the room arose and bowed deeply, to be rewarded by the requisite inclined head. Then the King swept from the room, striding, Laiqua noticed in despair, both forcefully and gracefully. Now it was Laiqua's turn to exit. Trailed by his tutor, the Elfling was at this point even less capable of treading in the appropriate manner than he had been upon his entrance. He was sure that he would disgrace himself if he took anything other than the tiniest of steps.

Once Laiqua and his tutor were safely outside the dining hall, the tutor mercifully led Laiqua to a garderobe that was only one long corridor away. By the time they reached it, Laiqua was a little damp but not so that anyone would notice.

After their stop at the garderobe, the tutor led Laiqua to his room and bid him good-night at the door. Obviously, Laiqua could not expect to be tucked in, and no good-night kiss would be forthcoming. Laiqua was not, however, disappointed. He wanted nothing so much as to be left alone. Wearily, he stripped off his tunic and damp leggings and pulled his nightshirt over his head. Next he crawled under the bed and retrieved Roch. Then he considered how to ascend his lofty mattress. Ah, the chair. He pulled it beside the bed, climbed onto it, and from that vantage point was able to clamber into the bed. By this time, he was too blessedly tired to dwell on the events of the past two days. He literally was asleep within minutes. Still, it was a measure of his homesickness that this first night he slept with his eyes closed, a most unelvish way to repose. 

In the morning, a housemaid brought Laiqua breakfast. Like the tutor, the housemaid did not stay to eat and gossip with him. At least she did not hover about criticizing his table manners. Instead, she left the room altogether.

Laiqua had even less appetite than he had had at supper, but he suspected that a repeat of his failure to eat might be looked upon just as unfavorably as crying. Listlessly, he swallowed every tasteless bite. After he had finished, he was not certain what to do next. Would he be allowed to leave his room for a time—perhaps to go outside—or was he expected to await the arrival of his tutor?

As he stood by the table, the door opened, and the housemaid returned to tidy up the room. She went straight to the bed to smooth the rumpled quilt. Laiqua sprang to intercept her.

"I can make my own bed!"

"Why, little prince, this duvet weighs more than you do!"

"Leave it!" Laiqua cried fiercely, grabbing hold of one side of the quilt and pulling as hard as he could. The housemaid, startled, let go of the other side, and Laiqua toppled over backward, the duvet cascading off the mattress and onto his head. Tangled up in the bedding, the stuffed horse was pulled off the bed as well, landing on the floor beside Laiqua.

When Laiqua crawled out from under the quilt, he gasped in horror. The housemaid was holding his beloved horse.

"Ah, I am so sorry, little prince. I did not know that there was still someone asleep in your bed. It is a pity that he has been woken up so roughly. In the future, I shall be much more careful."

She winked at Laiqua and slipped Roch under the clothes in the wardrobe.

"This may be a good place for him to spend his days.

Laiqua nodded. He could not speak, but he did manage to smile a little.


	4. Bending Bow

**Chapter 4**

**Bending Bow; Unbending Father__**

Over a hundred years had passed since Laiqua's arrival at the King's Hall.  To his delight, he had indeed been allowed to practice his archery.  In fact, the Seneschal (he felt sure that it was Gilglîr's doing and not the King's)—had engaged an excellent archery master who gave Laiqua lessons on a daily basis.  To Laiqua's satisfaction, these lessons necessarily reduced the time he spent with his tutor.  The training that he was receiving in horseback riding also cut into the hours that Laiqua sat in the library with the elderly Elf.   But Laiqua was by no means poorly prepared when it came to the historical and geographical lore that a future King ought to master.  He had become proficient at absconding with books that interested **him**.  These volumes he would study happily in the privacy of his room.  As a result, Laiqua was quite well read, although the tutor would have been surprised to learn that this was so.  Actually, the tutor no doubt would have been horrified at some of the books that Laiqua had been pouring over so avidly.  The elderly Elf did not believe that young Elves should be exposed to tales such as those of the love of the Men Beren and Tuor  for the elven maidens Lúthien Tinúviel and Idril Celebrindal.

So Laiqua was content with the fact that he was receiving—or, in the case of the books, seizing—ample opportunity to shoot, to ride, and to read.  He only wished that the time he was forced to spend with the King would pass as pleasantly and quickly as the hours he spent outdoors or ensconced in his room with a book.  The King never seemed happy in the company of the prince, whom he addressed infrequently and then always as 'Le or ennas'.   Why did his Adar do that? Laiqua wondered.  Why did he always say 'You over there' rather than call him by his proper name?    Indeed, why was it that no one ever addressed or referred to him by name in the presence of the King?  The Seneschal, for example, called him Laiqua when he spoke privately with him, but if the King was within hearing Gilglîr would say 'pen-neth' or, more commonly, 'Ernil-neth'.  What was wrong with his name, that no one would utter it if the King were in the room?  Since the King seemed to dislike being with or addressing the prince, Laiqua spent much of his time trying to avoid him.  As a result, he had become very good at staying out of sight and had discovered all the possible places into which an Elfling could quietly creep.

Sighing, Laiqua tried to push aside this nagging problem, and he brightened when he realized that it was time for his archery lesson.  Like his Adar, his archery master said little to him, but Laiqua did not feel that it was because the instructor was uncomfortable in his presence.  It was merely his way, a natural restraint that was not directed at Laiqua in particular.  He said little to any of the Elflings whom he trained.  Laiqua inspected his bow, checked to see that his arrows were arranged properly in his quiver, and eagerly hastened to the archery field.  Once there, he fell naturally into the rhythm of nock, draw, release, receiving several approving nods as he completed each element of the day's training.

The archery master had just instructed Laiqua to stand back further from his target than he ever had before when the Elfling realized that something unprecedented had  happened.  The King was standing at the edge of the field, silently watching him.

Laiqua's hand shook a little as he drew an arrow from his quiver, nocked it, pulled back the string, released the arrow—and completely missed the target, the shaft flying wide to the left.  Both Laiqua and the archery master were shocked.  It had been decades since Laiqua had failed to hit the target altogether.

Laiqua tried again, consciously attempting to correct for the fact that his first shot had gone wide to the left.  This time the arrow flew wide to the right.  He drew a third arrow, which fell short of the target, and a fourth, which overshot the mark.  Was there any other possible way, he thought in frustration and fear, that he could fail to hit the target?  The King was now crossing the range, advancing on the shaken prince and the appalled archery master.  It took only seconds before he was upon them.

The flustered archery master bowed as deeply as possible, his head almost knocking against his knees, and he strove to explain Laiqua's failure.  "My Lord, he has never attempted to hit the target from such a distance.  I am certain…."

The King raised a hand to silence him.  "Do not make excuses for him.  You have expended much time upon him—and I have squandered much wealth—and this resulting performance is inexcusable.  Obviously, he does not take his training seriously, even though my Seneschal begged me to engage for his benefit the most renowned archery master in all of Elvendom."  Now he addressed Laiqua, looking at him disdainfully.  "You over there, in one week, if you cannot better acquit yourself, you will forfeit your archery lessons.   Your master will be free to devote his time to more deserving pupils."  With that, the King turned on his heel and stomped away, his forcefulness for once utterly prevailing over his gracefulness.

That night Laiqua lay in bed unable to sleep.  He could not stop dwelling upon the trial that he faced in a week's time.  With the King looking on, how could he fail to be nervous; and if nervous, how could he possibly perform to the King's satisfaction?  Laiqua was about to give way to despair when he hit upon a strategy.  In the coming days, he would pretend that the archery master was Thranduil.  The master was as silent as the King was when forced into the company of the prince.  Moreover, Laiqua suspected that the relationship between pupil and master would be tense in the wake of today's incident.  Perfect!  A silent and unhappy archery master would be an excellent surrogate for his Adar.  Laiqua was confident that he would be able to adjust to the disturbing presence of the 'King' so that when the real Thranduil reappeared, the Elfling would not be unnerved.

The appointed day had dawned, and Laiqua and the archery master awaited the King.  Gilglîr was at the field as well, but Laiqua didn't mind.  Unlike the King, the Seneschal always made the prince less nervous rather than more so.

At last the King arrived.  He answered their bows with a curt nod but at first said nothing.  With a last glance at Gilglîr, Laiqua stepped up to the line.  It was then that Thranduil noticed that the mark was closer to the target than it had been the previous week.  "Master Archer," he said sternly, "the conditions of this trial must be identical to those of the previous week.  He must stand further from the target."

Laiqua obliged by stepping back several paces.  The archery master was increasingly apprehensive, but Laiqua was not at all dismayed.  His strategy was working.  He was not the least bit anxious, not the least inclined to cringe at the sound of his Adar's angry voice.  He drew an arrow from his quiver and without hesitation sent it flying into the center of the target.  He drew a second arrow and smoothly released it.  It too struck the center, splitting the first as it did so.  He drew a third and split the second arrow.

Arrow after arrow Laiqua released, all striking dead center or very near to it, many of the shafts splitting earlier arrows in the process.  After Laiqua had destroyed a great many arrows in this fashion, the archery master at last called a halt to the exhibition.  Beaming, the master turned toward the King.  Laiqua could not find it within himself to beam, but he faced the King with an unusually proud carriage.  Today, at long last, his Adar would have to say something gracious to him!  It was only Gilglîr who still felt uneasy.

The King stood silent as usual for a few moments.  Then he cleared his throat and addressed the archery master.  "Master Archer, your reputation is assuredly well deserved.  No matter the talent, or lack thereof, of your pupils, you never fail to raise their skills to acceptable levels."  Without a word to Laiqua, Thranduil strode off with his trademark forcefulness and grace.   Gilglîr turned toward the prince, hoping that he could find words to comfort him, but Laiqua was already in full flight toward the forest. 

            Crouched in a tree, Laiqua tried to remember the Edwen Nana who had cared for him the first few years of his life.  It was no longer easy for him to summon her face, but he remembered that she had sung to him and rubbed his back.  He recalled how she would gently comb his hair and then carefully braid it, and he also remembered how she would spoon porridge into a bowl and let him flavor it with dollops of cream. 

Why had he been taken from his Edwen Nana and brought to this Elf who after all this time was still no better than a stranger to him?  No, worse than a stranger.  A stranger might have neither liked nor disliked him, while the King without a doubt despised him.  Why then couldn't he have been left to stay with someone who had been happy with his presence?

Laiqua heard voices and laughter approaching.  He wished to be found by no one, and he curled himself up into as tiny a space as possible.  Two housemaids were meandering through the forest on their day off.  They settled themselves under the tree to share the customary grievances of servants.

"I know he is Master High and Mighty King, but does he have to act as if we have no more feelings than mountain trolls?  Lord Celeborn doesn't speak so to his servants."

"You have to allow for King Thranduil's moods.  If you would believe it, he was actually a kindly man before the death of his wife."

"He's not the only Elf to have lost a wife.  There's Lord Elrond, isn't there?  He's gracious enough to his servants, I hear tell.  Why can't King Thranduil be like him?  And there's the child, now; you'd think that the king would take pleasure in the pen-neth instead of wallowing in grief."

"I do not think the king will ever take pleasure in that unfortunate Elfling.  Don't you know that his mother died giving birth to the poor thing?  The king sent him away with a nursemaid for several years, for the child put him in mind of the mother's death whenever he laid eyes upon him, or so it is said.  Why, I have even heard tell that the king never troubled to name him."

"No, that cannot be so!  How came he to have a name then?"

"When the child was handed off to the nursemaid, old Thranduil is supposed to have told her to call him what she would."

"And so the name Laiqua was picked by the nursemaid?  It means green, doesn't it." 

"Aye."

"It's a pretty name she picked, but, still, the name ought to have been chosen by the father."

"Well, that is just one of the ways that the king slighted the Elfling.  After a time, though, his Seneschal began to remind him that the child was heir to the throne and ought to be brought back to the palace, whatever the feelings of the king.  And so the child was sent for.  Ai! It was that Elfling's ill fortune to resemble his mother in every particular.  Old Thranduil could hardly bear to look at him.  Perhaps over time the king would not have loathed the Elfling quite so much, but then the pen-neth was always timid in the presence of the king and you know how he hates that in an Elf."

"But it was hardly the child's fault if he was timid, was it?  He didn't know the king very well, did he?"

"He knew the king not at all."

"And the king is an imposing figure; why, grown Elves have been known to cringe before him.  Truth be told, I've done it myself." 

            "Aye, I have as well."

"And the way the king treats that child, he's scarcely likely to grow less timid.  I've seen him speak more sharply to that Elfling than he does to the servants, if that is at all possible."

            "Well, the king is hardly likely to change now.  And as long as that pen-neth is so timid and looks so like his mother, it's certain old King Thranduil will never take joy in the Elfling.  Oh, he'll raise him as his proper heir, mind you—he's seen to it that the child has had archery and riding masters and Quenya tutors—but the child will never bring so much as the shadow of a smile to the face of the king."

            Gradually the servants went on to gossip about other matters, and as the day drew to a close, they finally arose and ambled back toward the Hall.

            Long after the servants had departed Laiqua remained crouched in the tree, replaying that conversation over and over again in his mind.  Now at last he understood.  The day of his birth had been the day of his Naneth's death, and for that his Adar hated the sight of him and would always hate the sight of him.  His Adar had not even gifted him with a name.  He would never return to the King's Hall, to the Adar who despised him so.  He would slip back into the Hall undetected—he was after all practiced at evading notice—and he would gather together extra boots, a blanket, and a spare tunic and pair of leggings.  He would also need a water flask and several days' worth of lembas, and he would need flint and steel, a knife, and his bow.

Several hours later Laiqua slung a pack over his shoulders, adjusted the strap to his quiver, and, bow firmly in hand, crept out of the Hall and slipped into the forest.  Once safely out of sight of the Hall, he paused to consider his next step.  He would fend for himself, but whither should he go?   He could not stay in Greenwood.  He could not remain forever concealed there, and Laiqua did not wish to chance an encounter with a father who already detested him and would no doubt be all the angrier when he realized that his heir had fled.  But where else could an Elf dwell?  Other than Greenwood, he knew of three places frequented by Elves.  Far to the west were the Grey Havens.  Also to the west, across the Misty Mountains, was Imladris.  To the southwest was Lothlórien.  Elves passing from Middle Earth traveled to the Havens.  He did not think the Valar would permit him to leave Middle Earth just yet.  Imladris was the home of Elrond, Lord of Rivendell, and he had rarely heard a Greenwood Elf say anything good of Elrond.  Of course, Laiqua mused, he'd also rarely heard a Greenwood Elf say anything good of **him.  Still, he feared to travel to Imladris.  Lothlórien, on the other hand, perhaps that would be a good choice.  Everyone praised Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel and described the City of the Trees, Caras Galadhon, as the heart of Elvendom on Middle Earth.  Moreover, the Galadhrim were famed as archers.  Even though the tight-lipped archery master had never told him how exceptional he was, Laiqua did know that he had some skill as an archer.  Perhaps the Lord and Lady would allow him to pick up his bow in their service.  Yes, he would give himself a name—'Anomen' would do nicely he thought with a bitter smile—and to Lothlórien he would go.**

            Laiqua thought back to the maps that he had studied with his tutor.  If he traveled south as far as Dol Guldur and then struck out due west, he would find Lothlórien.  He didn't like using the tower of Dol Guldur as a landmark, but it was the only fixed point he could think of.  Still, he would be careful not to go too close.  Dol Guldur had an ill-name and seemed to be the focus of an evil that dwelled in the southern Greenwood.  Indeed, that part of the forest was now called Mirkwood by some, and year by year the area encompassed by that name seemed to stretch ever northward.  Yes, he would make sure not to approach too close to Dol Guldur.


	5. Spiders, Wolves, and Orcs

**Chapter 5**

**Spiders, Wolves, and Orcs**

            As he slipped through the forest of Greenwood, Laiqua kept careful watch for the spiders whose webs increased in number the further one traveled from the Hall.  He saw none for a long time, but at last he heard the unmistakable hissing and snapping in the branches above.  He tilted back his head as he attempted to determine the number and kind of spiders concealed by the leaves.  He momentarily stepped forward without looking at where he was going.  "Umph," he snorted as he stepped into the edge of a giant web.  Fortunately, he had only blundered into the edge of the trap, and he swiftly drew out his knife and began to slash himself free as the spiders scuttled downward toward the disturbed web.  It was quite hard to disentangle his hair, however, and he began to frantically thrash his head back and forth as the spiders neared.  He winced as a clump of his hair was yanked out by his efforts, but he was free and scrambled away as fast as he could, leaving behind several strands of golden hair in the slowly undulating web.

            In the palace, Gilglîr approached the throne.  The incident at the archery field had convinced him that it was imperative he confront the king over his treatment of the Prince.  He understood Thranduil's grief over the death of his wife, but there were a number of reasons why the king must be made to accept his responsibilities as a father.  The happiness of the kingdom was one reason, Laiqua's happiness was a second, and the happiness of Thranduil himself was a third.  

            "My Lord," said Gilglîr.

"Yes?" sighed Thranduil.  Gilglîr was his friend as well as his Seneschal, and he had seen that look on Gilglîr's face before at several crucial points in his life.

"Thranduil, you have a son."

"I am quite aware of that fact."

"You do not act as if you were aware of that fact."

"Are you suggesting that I have mistreated my son?"

"Yes."

Thranduil was stunned.  Gilglîr had never been this blunt.

"Gilglîr, he is well fed and clad as befits a prince.  He has been tutored in Westron and Quenya, as well as in the history and geography of all the peoples of Middle Earth.  He has been provided with the finest archery and riding masters in all of Elvendom.  How then have I neglected my son?"

"You do not touch Laiqua, you do not look at him, and you address him only to point out his failings."

Thranduil flinched.  It had been long since Gilglîr had presumed to utter Laiqua's name in the presence of the King.

"But, Gilglîr, I am irritated by his timidity.  I cannot stand a cringing Elf, and I only wish to encourage him to behave boldly."

"And acting as if you despise him will so encourage him?"

"I do not act as if I despise him!"

"If you were to eavesdrop on the conversations of the servants, you would find that you have created that universal impression.  Thranduil, do you hate your son?"

Thranduil hesitated.  "No, I do not.  But it true that I often find myself turning away from him because he reminds me of his mother.  And his name—Gilglîr, you know that I cannot bear to hear his name.  It reminds me—I cannot bear it."

"Have you ever thought of turning toward him because your son and his name remind you of his mother?"

Thranduil hesitated again.  "No, I have not."

"I think if you did, if you gave Laiqua reason to believe that he is your son and not your burden, that he would cringe less and smile more."

"But, Gilglîr, I have never seen him smile."

"Exactly."

"Oh."  Thranduil blushed with shame.

After a long moment, he spoke again.  "Gilglîr, I believe I have not talked with my son in several days.  Please see that he is sent to me.  No, wait.  Have him meet me at the archery grounds.  Tell him to bring not only his bow but to fetch mine as well.  I have never been the greatest of bowman, and I believe that a gifted archer such as my son may be able to assist me in improving my grip."

"As you wish, my Lord."  Gilglîr bowed and backed out of the room, a respectful Seneschal once more.

            Several hours later it was apparent that it had been days since anyone at all had seen Laiqua.

            "How is this possible!?" stormed Thranduil. "How is this possible!?"

            "My Lord," explained Gilglîr, "no one noticed that Laiqua has not been seen in days because that is the normal state of affairs.  It is usual for him to be missing.  You cannot blame the servants."

            Thranduil knew that the Seneschal's words were just.  If the King hadn't noticed the absence of his son, how could he expect anyone else to have done so? 

            "Gilglîr, please have all available scouts sent out to scour Greenwood in every direction."

            "Yes, my Lord.  I will join the search myself."

            "Thank you, mellon-nîn.  Thank you."

            "My Lord."

            Thranduil looked up at a scout who stood nervously before him.

            "Have you something to report?"

            "Yes, my Lord."

"You have found the prince?"

"No, my Lord, but we have discovered a trace of him."

            "A trace of him?"  Thranduil suddenly realized that the scout was clutching several strands of golden hair.

            "Where," he asked grimly, "is the Elfling who should be attached to that hair?"

            "My Lord, we discovered this hair in a spider's web.  We have come upon no other sign of the prince."

            Thranduil closed his eyes and slumped back in his chair.  The scout stood in attendance for several minutes and then, without waiting to be dismissed, crept silently away.

Thranduil stood in Laiqua's room.  Why he had come there he did not know.  He could not expect to find his son in the chamber.  Still, he wandered about the room, touching the tunic that was flung across the back of the chair, picking up and thumbing through books that lay in the wardrobe under Laiqua's leggings.  After a time, he sat down upon the slightly rumpled bed.  He smoothed his hand across the duvet and encountered a lump.  Reaching into the bedding, he pulled out a shabby stuffed horse.

Thranduil had not allowed himself to cry when his father was slain during the battle of the Last Alliance.  He had not even permitted himself to weep at the death of Laurëlassë.  This time he sobbed without restraint, as if mourning for all of his lost kin.

Laiqua had not traveled far when he realized how widespread the evil influence of Dol Guldur had become.  He was attempting to follow a path that would keep him within the westernmost fringe of Greenwood as he made for its southern tip.  He planned to strike due west only when he reached the vicinity of the tower.  But he had traveled only a short distance when he began to feel a growing dread and to sense that he was being watched.  Most disconcertingly, he felt that the watchers were **behind** him.  That meant that there was danger at his back, to the north, while he had already known that there would be danger to the south and east of him.  Was he in peril of being ensnared by foes even with Dol Guldur still far distant?  Safety might be found to the west, past the tree line, but he had not wanted to break out into the open just yet.  Nevertheless, he felt compelled to do so.

            Nervously, the Wood-Elf left his forest refuge and ran the risk of traveling across terrain that would afford him few hiding places.  He had heard tell that a great bear roamed this woodless area between the edge of Greenwood and the Great River.  It was still daylight, however, and the bear supposedly never came out until dusk.  A Man was known to frequent this land during the daytime, and presumably the Man would not do so unless it were safe.  A beekeeper the Man was reported to be, and Laiqua believed that some of the honey in Thranduil's larder came from his beehives.

            Laiqua walked west until Greenwood just barely remained within his sight, then he turned south again.  He walked on until he judged that it was an hour until sunset.  "I'd best get back into the cover of the wood," he thought.  He would feel safer spending the night in the embrace of a tree.  He turned back toward the east.  It was still light when he neared the forest.  But abruptly he stood still.  He felt that he was being watched again, and the eyes were surely directly ahead of him, hidden in the obscurity of the forest in which he wished to shelter.  He peered into the shadows beneath the trees.  Ai! Wolves!  There was still a little time before the sun would set altogether.  He wheeled around and hastened west, hoping to cover as much distance as possible before the wolves ventured out on the hunt.  All too soon, however, he heard the howls of a pack in search of its dinner.  He sprinted forward, desperately hoping that the wolves were on the track of some creature other than Elfling.  It was not long, though, until he realized that this was not to be the case; Elfling was indeed the prey this night.  He ran on.

            Laiqua was a strong runner who could have loped on for days.  In this case, however, endurance would not suffice.  He could not outrun these wolves, and they would pull him down if they managed to surround him.  He would slay a few with his bow, but he could not shoot in all directions simultaneously.  As he ran, he scanned the horizon for anything that might afford him shelter, but the land was treeless and seemed otherwise featureless.  From time to time, Laiqua slowed to shoot an arrow, and every time he did so he brought down a wolf, but at the same time the surviving wolves were able to draw closer.

            Laiqua's plight was beginning to seem hopeless when he saw something ahead in the darkness.  It was a boulder, an immense one.  If he reached it, perhaps he could climb up out of reach of the wolves.  Laiqua sprinted toward the boulder with new hope.  Barely inches ahead of the lead wolf, he reached the boulder and scrambled up its craggy face.  The disappointed wolves circled the boulder, sniffing the air and searching for a way to reach him.  Laiqua nocked an arrow but held off shooting.  He did not have enough arrows to kill all the wolves and decided instead to conserve his remaining shafts.  At dawn these wolves might abandon the hunt and return to the forest without any further action on his part.  At the moment, he was trapped but safe.

            But perhaps he was not so safe.  He heard a growling that came from outside the ring of wolves.  It was deeper than the sound of any wolf he had ever heard.  What was this new devilry!?   Out of the night charged an enormous bear, as tall as a troll and certainly large enough to reach up with a mighty paw and sweep Laiqua off the boulder.  The bear stormed into the pack of wolves, arose onto its rear limbs and began to strike out right and left.  With each swing a wolf was catapulted howling into the air.

            Soon no wolf was left.  Most were dead; the few survivors were skulking back to their forest sanctuary.  Laiqua was left alone with the bear.  He heard it snuffling around the base of the rock, but it did not attempt to climb up or to reach Laiqua with its claws.  As the stars crept across the sky, Laiqua crouched on the boulder, listening as the bear approached and retreated, approached and retreated.  At last, sensing that the bear did not mean to threaten him, Laiqua stretched himself out on top of the rock to rest and await the dawn.

            When the sun arose, there was no sign of the bear, and Laiqua realized that the wolf carcasses had been dragged off during the night.  The only sign of the battle was the trampled grass.  Laiqua climbed down from the rock.  To his surprise, he saw a bundle of leather lying in the shade at the base of the boulder.  He unwrapped the bundle and inside found a piece of honey comb as well as a hunk of bread thickly spread with butter.  Had the beekeeper been abroad in the early morning and left this food?  Laiqua eyed it thoughtfully.  It occurred to him that the beekeeper might be in the habit of placing his noon meal at that spot, and he did not want to deprive the beekeeper of his lunch.  Yet he sensed that the food was meant to be a gift from the Man to the Elfling, and he knew that he needed to stretch his own provisions as far as possible.  After a few minutes, Laiqua nodded to himself and gratefully feasted on the honey and buttered bread.

            Laiqua continued traveling southward, always keeping Greenwood in sight to the east and ever watchful for a sign that he was approaching Dol Guldur.  One day at dusk he caught a glimpse of the distant tower.  Good.  He could now strike out due west.    But suddenly he saw something else in the vicinity of Dol Guldur, and that something was moving.  In a few moments his keen eyes could tell that the something was in fact made up of many individual specks, and those specks resolved themselves into vaguely manlike creatures that were scurrying in his direction.  Given how close he was to Dol Guldur, there was a good chance that those creatures were Orcs.  Yes, they were indeed Orcs.  Why had he been so foolish as to come upon Dol Guldur at dusk, just when Orcs would be stirring.  Ai! Valar!   

            For the second time Laiqua found himself running with a pack on his heels that would not be likely to abandon its pursuit before dawn.  Moreover, he had used some of his arrows against the wolves and did not have nearly enough left to put up a defense against such a large band of Orcs.  Laiqua did not even bother to get off any shots; instead he concentrated on maintaining the distance between himself and his pursuers.

            The stars had traveled halfway across the canopy of the sky, and the Orcs were showing no sign of giving up the chase.  Laiqua was now certain that these Orcs would not abandon the hunt before sunrise.  Worse, the lead pursuers were very nearly within bowshot; from time to time Laiqua heard the twang of an arrow being released, but as of yet all his enemies' shafts had fallen short.  Still, Laiqua felt the skin between his shoulder blades prickle unpleasantly at the prospect of being impaled by an Orcish arrow.   Suddenly he saw a flickering light in the distance.  A campfire!  Anyone who stopped to camp at night was unlikely to be an Orc.  He made for the light.

Even running as hard as he was, the Elfling scarcely made any noise.  And no doubt Dwarves do not have hearing as keen as that of Elves.  Whatever the reason, the Dwarves were not aware of Laiqua until he was upon them.  In full career, Laiqua dashed into their camp, and it was only his elven gracefulness that saved him from trampling several Naugrim underfoot.  The Dwarves leaped up with an angry roar, but their ire quickly turned from the Elf when they heard the heavy footfalls of the pursuing Orcs.  Granted that the Naugrim do not like Elves, they like Orcs even less, so when the Orcs crashed into the camp, they were met not only by the bow of an Elfling but by the axes of Dwarves.

Laiqua had been able get off two shots and had drawn an arrow for a third when, with a sweep of his scimitar, a charging Orc knocked aside the Elfling's bow before he could fit the arrow to the string.  Still clutching the arrow, Laiqua instinctively thrust it forward and pierced the Orc's throat.  Dropping his weapon and clutching at his gullet, Laiqua's opponent collapsed at his feet.  His death gave Laiqua no respite, however, as a pair of Orcs was now rushing him, one from the left, one from the right.  The Elfling drew his knife, but how could he fend off two enemies with one blade?  Stooping swiftly, Laiqua seized the fallen scimitar with his free hand.  Thrusting outward with both arms, he used knife and scimitar to slash simultaneously at his two foes.  After he had slain the two Orcs, Laiqua discarded the unwieldy scimitar and retrieved the bow, his weapon of choice.  A few shots and axe blows later, the fight was over.  No Orcs would return to Dol Guldur to tell the tale of the Battle of Dwarves and Elfling.

            Now that the skirmish had ended, the Dwarves were not long in remembering the Elfling.  He had been seen to play his part in the battle—that much they would have to  admit—but their grumbling and the angry glances cast at him left him quite certain that they were  indignant at his having led a troop of Orcs into their camp.  Laiqua decided that he had best insinuate himself into their good graces—that is, if they had good graces, of which he was doubtful.  In the Common Speech, he addressed the Dwarf whom he adjudged to be the leader, partly because he looked haughtiest, partly because he wore a golden chain around his neck and had a hood of better than average make. 

             "My Lord…" began Laiqua.

            "Oh, my lord, is it," the Dwarf snorted.  I've never known an Elf to be polite unless he wanted to weasel something out of an unfortunate Dwarf.  No one trusts an Elf!"

            "But my Lord…" Laiqua started again.

            "Oh, aye, aye, my lord, my lord.  What is it you want?  Whatever it is, we can't provide it.  We've been driven out of our home by an accursed dragon and can hardly supply our own needs."

            When Laiqua had seen the quick work the Dwarves made of the Orcs, he thought that, if the Naugrim were traveling in his direction, he might ask them to allow him to journey alongside them.  Their irascible leader, however, quickly made him abandon this plan.  He would go on alone, even if doing so left him again vulnerable to Orcs and suchlike creatures.

            "Truly, I want nothing—unless it be your permission to praise you for your valor and to beg pardon for my intrusion.  Farewell, Master Dwarf!"

            Bowing, Laiqua began to inch away from the scowling Dwarf until he had passed beyond the ring of light cast by the fire.  Then he turned and walked away as swiftly as dignity permitted while the Dwarves flung imprecations at his back.  Laiqua was glad that he could not understand the dwarvish tongue.  "By the Valar!" he thought, "I pray that I never again find myself in the company of a Dwarf!"


	6. Search for Sanctuary

**Chapter 6**

**Search for Sanctuary**

Several days after his encounter with the Dwarves, Laiqua at last entered the forest of Lothlórien.  The trees at the edge of the forest, if not unfriendly, were exceedingly watchful.  So, too, he found, were the Lórien Elves.  He had hardly stepped into the shadow of the wood when he heard the slight rasp of an arrow being pulled from a quiver.  In a flash he had fitted an arrow to his own bow and drawn it.  At once he found himself in a standoff with another archer, golden-haired like himself, but garbed in a gray cloak that was clasped at the throat with a leaf-shaped brooch.  This Lórien bowman was no Elfling, but he was not very old for an Elf, perhaps a little more than a millennium in age.

            "Lower your bow," ordered the Lórien Elf.

"You lower your own bow!" Laiqua shot back.

 "I will lower my bow if you lower your bow." 

"At the same time?"

"Of course."

Slowly the two Elves lowered their bows.

            "Who are you?" said Laiqua.

            "You are the stranger here.  Who are you?"

            "I am an Elf, not an Orc.  You could be more courteous."

            The Lórien archer was somewhat taken aback.  "No, you are not an Orc, but we must be vigilant, for Orcs sometimes wander near these borders."

            "Indeed, I well know that to be true!" 

            "You have encountered Orcs?"

            "Yes, and now Middle Earth is cursed with some fewer of those creatures."

            The Lórien archer gazed at him with more respect.  "You have slain Orcs?  I, I am a guardian of Lothlórien, but I have not yet seen battle." 

            "I have slain Orcs, but I did not fight alone."  Laiqua decided not to mention that his companions had been Dwarves who had in fact done most of the fighting.

            "There is no shame in accepting help against such foes."

            "True, and that is why I am here.  I would beg sanctuary from the Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel."

            "Then I shall take you to them.  They will no doubt be glad to welcome an elven archer who has slain Orcs."  The Elf smiled slyly.  "Of course, I cannot announce your presence unless I know your name."

            Laiqua grinned.  "I am Anomen."

            "And I am Haldir.  Come, I will take you to the Lord and Lady of Caras Galadhon."

_"You tell the truth—and you tell no truth."_

Laiqua gasped as the Lady Galadriel held his gaze with her unblinking eyes.  The Lady had not spoken aloud, but he could hear her thoughts even more clearly than he had ever sensed the feelings of trees.  And he feared that she could hear his thoughts with equal clarity.  He had told her that his name was Anomen and that he had no father.  Now he could feel her mind probing his, searching for the name of the man who was and was not his father.  If she learned that he was Laiqua Thranduilion, prince of Greenwood, would she send word to the king, or, worse, send him back under an escort of Galadhrim archers?  As the Lady stared intently into his eyes, Laiqua tried to empty his mind of all thoughts.  At last the Lady released him from her spell.

 "You are weary with sorrow and much toil.  After you have supped and rested, we shall talk again.  Haldir, will you take our young guest to your flet and see that he receives all that is needful?"

"Yes, my Lady."  Haldir gestured for Laiqua to follow him down the stairs of the Lady's flet and led him to another talan that could be reached by a rope ladder.  Haldir mounted the rope ladder gracefully, and Laiqua, a woodland Elf, was no less adept at ascending.

"You are welcome to make use of any of these," said Haldir, motioning toward a thick pile of blankets and fur coverings.  "I will fetch you something to eat.  Is there anything else that you need?"

"No, thank you, Haldir."

Haldir bowed slightly and then vanished over the edge of the talan.  He returned shortly with a platter heaped generously with food, which he set before Laiqua along with a flagon of wine.  Then he sat himself down.  He smiled at Laiqua, but Laiqua hesitated to eat.

"Will you eat with me?" Laiqua asked.

"Nay, I have already eaten."

Laiqua still hesitated.

"Ah," said Haldir, "If you are uncomfortable eating before me, I would be glad to busy myself with some errand or another."

Laiqua smiled.  "Thank you, Haldir.  You are most kind."

Haldir once again slipped over the edge of the flet.  As soon he was gone, Laiqua stuffed the bread and the fruit and some of the meat into his pack.  The remainder of the meat he ate.  He drank some of the wine and poured the rest into his flask.  Then he made up a bed for himself out of some of the blankets and furs.  At last Haldir returned.  He glanced with surprise at the now empty platter.

"You were certainly hungry!" 

"Aye," said Laiqua.  "But now I hope that I shall not be hungry for some time."

"No, I should think not!" exclaimed Haldir.  "You will want to sleep now, I suppose.  I shall let you sleep long.  You need not arise until you are quite rested."

"Thank you, Haldir."

Curled up in his coverings, Laiqua listened as Haldir made up his own bed and settled into it.  After a long time, Laiqua carefully sat up and glanced toward Haldir, who lay on his back sleeping in elvish fashion, with eyes open, the moonlight mingling with his dreams.  Quietly Laiqua slipped out from his bedding.  He carefully arranged the blankets and furs so that it looked as if they were still occupied by a sleeping Elf.  Then he shouldered his pack and silently descended from the flet.

Smiling, Galadriel stood in a glade watching in her mirror as Laiqua slipped out of Lothlórien.  "Now you would go to Imladris, O Nameless One.  It is well. The Lord of Rivendell has ever been a protector of the young.  As a father he will be to you—for a little while."

Laiqua knew that to reach Imladris he must either cross the Misty Mountains or pass through the Gap of Rohan.  He had no desire to cross the mountains, as by all reports they were troll-ridden.  The Dwarves, he had been told, had a passage that ran right under the mountains through a mine, but he had no wish to encounter any more Naugrim, who struck him as a singularly unpleasant race.  If it came to that, he would rather chance the trolls!  But, no, the Gap of Rohan it would be.

The plains of Rohan, although rolling and broken by stony outcroppings, did not provide as much cover as the forest to which Laiqua was accustomed.  Thus it was that an outrider of a passing company of Rohirrim caught sight of Laiqua as, too late, he scrambled to take cover behind a boulder.  The scout shouted out his discovery to his fellow riders, who wheeled around and began to circle Laiqua, drawing closer and closer until he was hemmed in on all sides.  Each rider bore a spear, and each spear was pointed at Laiqua.  The Elfling feared that he would be skewered if he merely drew too deep a breath.  To his relief, the leader, after silently studying him for a few moments, gestured dismissively to the other riders, who lowered their spears.

            "'Tis only an Elfling," said the leader.

            "Aye, Helm, 'tis true," replied a rider. "But what business has an Elfling in Rohan?  Perchance he is a spy."

            "Of what interest would an Elf have in the plains of Rohan?  They are no horse breeders."

            "But why then is he here?"

            "I may answer that, if you would let me," blurted out Laiqua.

            "Ah, impertinent are we?" growled the rider.

            "Nay, nay, let him speak," laughed the leader, the one called Helm.  "He is not daunted easily, an admirable quality whether in Man or Elf.  Now, who are you and what do you do here?" 

            "My name is Anomen, and as beautiful as these plains may be to horsemasters such as yourselves, I have no wish to linger long in your land.  I am on my way to Imladris and beg leave to pass through the Gap of Rohan."

            "The Gap of Rohan?  And then you will turn north to Imladris?"

            "Yes, Lord Helm."

            "That route will take you through Dunland.  Know you not that the Dunlendings have no love for Elves?"

            "Then I shall try to conceal myself as I pass through their territory."

            "No doubt as successfully as you concealed yourself from these riders," laughed Helm.

            Laiqua smiled back.  "Once I pass through the Gap of Rohan, I hope that the land will afford more cover than do these plains."

            Helm nodded.  "True.  Well, Anomen, you have leave to pass through the Gap of Rohan.  But it is a long way.  You have a bow, but I fear that you shall encounter little game that would not run away long before you could come within bowshot."  He undid a saddlebag and tossed it down to Laiqua.  "I hope that these provisions may suffice until you are able to make use of your bow."

            "I thank you, Lord Helm.  I hope that I may someday repay your hospitality."

            Helm chuckled.  "And how might an Elfling such as yourself repay our hospitality?"

            "I do not know, but if I ever return to your land, I shall strive to do so."

            Helm bowed slightly.  "Westu hal, Anomen."

            "The grace of the Valar be upon you and your kin, Lord Helm."

            Laiqua was deeply grateful for the provisions in that saddlebag long before he came within sight of the Gap of Rohan.  It was indeed a long trek for an Elfling on foot, especially since, mindful of how he had been spotted by the Riders of Rohan, Laiqua moved forward with greater care. He did not abandon his caution even when the Gap came within view.  Sometimes, however, caution is not enough.  Flattened within a trough in the grass, Laiqua scouted out the passage before him.  To his dismay, he saw a company of Orcs passing east through the gap—coming toward him.  "A Elbereth!" he thought, "am I to encounter every Orc in Middle Earth!?"

Hidden as he was, Laiqua might have been able to avoid the Orc's notice had they not been accompanied by Wargs.  Even then he might have gone undetected, but it was his misfortune to be upwind of his foes.  Oft the wind blows strong across the grasslands of Rohan, and today was no exception.   When the Wargs raised up their muzzles and howled, Laiqua gave up all hope of remaining hidden.  A forest covered the base of the mountains that stood to the north of the gap.  Laiqua leaped up and made for its shelter.  At least this time a sanctuary did lie within sight.

Laiqua reached the margin of the forest and scrambled up the nearest tree.  The Orcs and their Wargs swarmed around its base, gibbering and snarling, confident that their quarry was trapped.  These Orcs and their beasts had had few encounters with Wood-Elves, however, and did not know the ease with which such Elves can travel treetop to treetop.  Laiqua was able to slip from the first tree to a second, and continuing in that manner, soon left the Orcs and Wargs far behind.  At last he reached a particularly old and unusual looking tree.  It had a double trunk that consisted of two pillars of wood that rose up to meet together at a crotch.  Above that crotch the now-unified trunk rose until it reached two large branches, one on either side of the trunk.  Just above the juncture of those two branches was a tangle of vines and moss that Laiqua seized hold of as he scooted up onto one of the limbs.

"Who might you be?" boomed a voice next to Laiqua's ear, a voice coming from the tree itself!  

Laiqua gasped and, woodland Elf though he was, nearly tumbled from his branch.  Not that he was unaccustomed to the utterances of trees.  To a Silvan Elf the minds of trees are always present.  Indeed, Laiqua was unusually gifted at sensing the moods of rooted creatures (though he was not aware that he was exceptionally skilled at this—no one had told him, just as no one had told him how gifted he was at archery).  This voice, however, was different from any that Laiqua had ever heard before, for it was no mere murmuring in his mind.  The tree had spoken **aloud—had voiced its thoughts as clearly and loudly as a herald announcing the arrival of an emissary from Esgaroth.  Moreover, the tree was now beginning to ****move—not to sway in the breeze, either, but to actually stride, each of its twin trunks bending stiffly at knots that looked like knees, each trunk rising in its turn from the ground, moving forward, and replanting itself on the forest floor.  The movement of the tree was slow, even majestic, but each step covered a dozen feet because of the tree's great height.**

            "Hoooom, hoom, who might you be?" the tree asked again.  To Laiqua's surprise, he realized that the creature was speaking in Quenya, the oldest of the elven languages.

            "Ná E-e-elda," stammered Laiqua, adopting Quenya as well.

            "Hoooom, I know **what **you are," boomed the tree.  "I have not lived these many years without learning how to recognize an Elf.  So, again, **who** might you be?"

            "Anomen," Laiqua replied promptly.  It was almost second nature now for Laiqua to use this name. 

            "Anomen?" mused the tree.  "That does not sound very elvish.  Does that not mean "No name" or "Nameless" in the Common Speech?"

            "Nevertheless, it is my name," Laiqua replied stubbornly.  "My parents gave me none other."

            "Ah, your parents, and who might **they** be—and more to the point—**where** might they be?  I thought Elves cherished their offspring much too highly to let such a young Elfling wander about in a world full of wolves, Wargs, and Orcs—for I judge you to be no more than one-hundred years of age—if even that old you be."

            "I am nearly one-hundred and twenty," Laiqua cried indignantly.  "And I am well able to fend for myself!"

            "Hoom, hoom, harrumph," replied the tree with a sound that resembled a chuckle. "I suppose that accounts for the fact that you were perched in my branches hiding from those Orcs—a mere morsel you would have been had they caught you."

             Laiqua shuddered and fell silent.   The tree strode on, and they came into a clearing.  The tree flexed a limb that looked remarkably like an arm, and Laiqua found himself grasped by branches that looked remarkably like fingers.  He was lifted from his perch on the tree and set down on the ground.  Peering back up, he could now make out the creature's face, which looked like that of a wise man ancient in years.  He realized that the tangle of vine and moss that he had been clutching earlier was in fact a beard.  The creature studied him thoughtfully.

            "Your parents?" the tree asked again.

            "I have already told you my name, and you have told me nothing.  Would it not be courteous for you to tell me something of yourself before I tell you anything more about me?"

            "Courteous, hooom?  Do not forget that you were one who was yanking on my beard—was that courteous, hooom?  Nevertheless, I will tell you my name—or a short version of it, anyway.  My name is Fangorn.  In the Common Speech, I am Treebeard."

            "You also know **what** I am," parried Laiqua.  "What are you?"

            "I am an Onod, Master Elfling.  I am a herder of trees.  And, you, from your clothes are a Laiquendi, a Green-Elf—yet you have never heard of the Onodrim?"

            Laiqua felt a trifle foolish for not having sooner realized that he was in the presence of an Onod.  Of course he had heard of the Onodrim or Enyd.

            "Your pardon, Master Fangorn.  I have indeed been told of those venerable beings.  I have addressed you most disrespectfully, and I beg forgiveness."

            "Venerable, hooom, harumph?" said the Onod.  "Yes, I suppose to an Elfling I may seem venerable, and my joints are getting rather creaky, I must confess.  Now, as to your parents…."

            "My mother died when I was born."  Laiqua hesitated for a moment before he went on.  "And as for my father, now I no longer have a father."

            The Onod glanced shrewdly at Laiqua.  "You tell no lies—we will leave it at that.  So, having no parents, with whom do you live?"

            "I have no home at the moment, but I mean to travel to Imladris and enter the service of Lord Elrond of Rivendell.  I had intended to pass through the Gap of Rohan but was forced by the Orcs to make for the shelter of this forest."

            "Orcs.  Hooom.  Since Orcs are lurking about the borders of Fangorn—for that is what this forest is called as well—perhaps you should go to Isengard for the time being.  It is not too far, and the lord of Isengard is Saruman, who is one of the Istari.  Ever have they been allies to the Eldar and the Onodrim.  Oft have I walked with Saruman in these woods, and I do not doubt that he would aid you most willingly.  Come.  I think I know where we can find him.  Some nights he likes to walk abroad in the forest."

            Laiqua considered for a moment.  He wished to reach Imladris as soon as possible, but he was tired and hungry.  He had heard of the Istari.  Their magic was powerful, and they could be fearsome, yet were doubtless friends to all that was good in Middle Earth.  He had a vague memory of once seeing one such wizard in Greenwood—an old Man he was, bearded, cloaked in gray.  Laiqua did not dare approach him too closely—that might have brought Laiqua to the notice of Thranduil—but he remembered that the Man had seemed kind.  Hidden behind the door, Laiqua had watched the Istar blow smoke rings—not smoke rings, really, but smoke figures.  At one point he thought that the Istar had caught sight of him and smiled.  If Saruman was like this gentle wizard, then, yes, he would like to go to Isengard.

            "Yes," Laiqua said.  "I would like to meet this wizard."

            Laiqua found himself being lifted up by one of Fangorn's leafy arms and settled upon the Onod's shoulder.  Fangorn began to stride through the woods, pointing out his tree friends as he went and relating their histories.  They made for a point in the south of the forest.  There they came upon a Man who looked very like the wizard Laiqua had once seen in Greenwood: old and bearded.  He was, however, clothed in white.

"Ah, Fangorn, my friend, will you join me in a walk?  I have encountered a plant with which I am unfamiliar, and I am sure that you above all could enlighten me as to its uses and virtues."

Fangorn's trunk expanded as if he were swelling with pride.  "Hooom, hoom, maybe so, maybe so.  But perhaps another day.  Have you not noticed what I bear upon my shoulder?"

            Saruman smiled at Laiqua.  "An Elfling.  A most unusual ornament for an Onod, would you not agree, Fangorn?"

            "Hoom, hoom, harrumph," Fangorn chuckled.   "And would you not agree that such an ornament would be well suited to Isengard?"

Saruman bowed.  "I would be honored to add such an ornament to Isengard."

"Then I leave you in good hands, Elfling."  Again Laiqua found himself lifted from the shoulder of the Onod and placed upon the ground.

"Thank you, Master Fangorn."

"You are quite welcome.  Stay well, Elfling."  Fangorn took two immense strides and vanished back into the forest.

            "Lord Saruman, I will not trouble you long.  If you would let me rest a night or two at Isengard, then I shall be on my way.  I will travel on to Imladris."

  "You will not trouble me," Saruman replied gently.  "You look weary, and you must feel free to stay as long as you like."

Laiqua bowed.  "Thank you, Lord Saruman.  You are most gracious."

"And you are quite the polite little Elfling."  Lord Saruman smiled with amusement.  His eyes glittered.  "But come now; let me show you to Isengard."  He gestured for Laiqua to walk beside him.  As they walked he questioned Laiqua about his name and history.

"My name is Anomen, my Lord."

"Anomen?" Saruman said softly.  "That is a most interesting name.  And who are your parents?"

"I have no parents, my Lord."

"Nameless and parentless," murmured Saruman.  He studied the Elfling intently.  "But you make for Imladris.  Have you friends or kin there?"

"No, my Lord.  But I hope that I may be able to serve Lord Elrond in some capacity."

"Perhaps so, yondo-nya, but if the Lord Elrond has no need of your services, you must remember that you are welcome to return to Isengard.  I am sure I could find some use for your skills."

"Thank you, my Lord."  Laiqua was surprised at how disappointed he felt at hearing himself addressed as _yondo-nya_.  No one had ever addressed him as 'my son', and he had always been sure that he would feel great joy if anyone ever did.  But, he thought to himself, _yondo-nya, even though it did mean 'my son' in Quenya, was much too formal.  Not only was it a phrase in a language that few spoke, but it was stilted High Elven at that—a native-speaker would have addressed him as __yonya.  Saruman must have acquired his knowledge of Quenya mainly from books, mused Laiqua.  Above all, whether he said __yondo-nya or __yonya, Saruman was merely being polite.  Would anyone ever address Laiqua with the affectionate 'ion-nîn' with which he had so often heard Greenwood elves summon their sons?  No, thought Laiqua sadly, this ceremonial _yondo-nya_ was as close as he would come to hearing himself spoken to as if he were someone's son.  Laiqua regretfully returned his attention to his surroundings.  _

  Is that Isengard ahead?"

"That is the wall that guards the ring of Isengard.  We shall see the tower of Orthanc in a moment.  The view is blocked by the forest." 

            A short walk later the tower was indeed visible.  The wizard and the Elf passed through a gateway in the wall and continued on through the ring of Isengard, which was thickly planted with trees.  Ahead Laiqua could see that numerous steps led up to a door in the side of the tower.  Saruman continued to talk gently as they walked on, but Laiqua began to feel uneasy.  Why was he so fearful?  He realized that it was the utterances of the trees that troubled him.  The trees were afraid.  "What frightens them so?" he wondered.  He slowed and then stopped walking altogether.  The Istar, too, came to a stop, and Laiqua felt the eyes of the wizard upon him.

            "What troubles you, yondo-nya?"

            "The trees."

"A woodland Elf troubled by trees?"

"The trees sense danger."

"If that is so, then we had better hasten further into the safety of Isengard."

"But the trees will not find safety within Isengard."

The wizard appeared startled, but the expression was fleeting.  "I assure you that nothing will happen to these trees unless I myself command it.  Let yourself rest easy on that score."

Laiqua did not know why, but he was not reassured by the wizard.  Yet he could find no words of reply and reluctantly allowed himself to be drawn forward and into the tower of Orthanc.


	7. Ringed in at Isengard

**Chapter 7**

**Ringed In At Isengard**

Laiqua found himself lingering at Isengard.  The first morning, he arose long after sunrise, and Saruman gently suggested that it might not be wise to set out so late in the day.  "You will want to put in a full day's travel before you must seek shelter, will you not?"

Laiqua had to concede that Saruman's advice seemed wise, and he accepted the wizard's invitation to remain at Isengard for at least another night.  When he arose the next day, Saruman persuaded him to remain a third night.  "I have given command that a meal be prepared in your honor.  I would not have you leave Isengard without showing you proper hospitality."

"My Lord, I have not lacked for anything these past two nights, but if you wish it, I will remain and sup with you yet again."

That evening Laiqua joined Saruman at a table that was covered with ornate dishes filled with delicacies that he had never seen served at the table of King Thranduil during even the greatest of Elven celebrations.  Laiqua felt odd at being the only guest at such a feast and the sole recipient of Saruman's attentions.  Saruman plied Laiqua with questions and listened with the greatest respect to every observation he made, no matter how minor the topic.  Far from being flattered, however, Laiqua felt more and more ill at ease.  Surely the conversation of an Elfling who had seen and experienced so little of Middle Earth could not be that interesting to a powerful Istar.  Why, he wondered, was Saruman flattering him by seeming to take such an interest in whatever he had to say?  Laiqua also began to wish that Saruman would no longer address him as yondo-nya.  The phrase did not seem to fall naturally from the lips of the wizard.  

Laiqua was immensely relieved when a servant entered and begged leave to pass on a message for Saruman.  The Istar waved his permission.  The servant drew near, bent down, and whispered into Saruman's ear, but Laiqua thought he heard the phrase "Master, the emissaries have arrived."  The servant would have said more, but the wizard raised his hand and gestured at him to remain silent.  The servant bowed and backed away.  Saruman turned to Laiqua. "I fear I must attend to some business.  But I do not wish to neglect you, my guest.  I know that Elves take great pleasure in gazing upon the stars.  The platform at the top of this tower is well suited to such a pursuit, and tonight the sky is clear.  Come.  Let me take you there so that you may amuse yourself in my absence." 

Saruman stood and walked toward the center of the tower.  Laiqua followed and gazed up toward a ceiling so high that he could see only darkness.  Saruman gestured with his staff and uttered something in a tongue that Laiqua did not recognize.  Suddenly he felt as if he were spinning.  He closed his eyes.  When the spinning ceased, he opened his eyes to find himself standing beside Saruman near the edge of a platform on top of the tower.  He blinked and shook his head in bewilderment.  Saruman laughed at his confusion.

"Much more exciting than climbing stairs, is it not, yondo-nya?"

Laiqua gave an uncertain smile in reply.   To his dismay, he realized that he was dizzy.  He tried to take a step away from the edge but staggered helplessly.  With the speed of a striking snake, Saruman's hand shot out and clamped onto Laiqua's wrist, and the Elfling found himself being yanked toward the wizard.  Laiqua winced.  Saruman had grabbed him so tightly that his fingernails were cutting into the Elfling's skin.  Moreover, the Istar had pulled him back with such abruptness that Laiqua lost his balance altogether and was forced to lean upon the wizard for support.  For a fleeting moment he felt as if he were trapped.  As he struggled to regain his footing and to escape from Saruman's grasp, he looked down uncomfortably at the wrist gripped by the wizard.  Saruman followed his glance and, after a moment of hesitation, released him.

"You should be careful," warned the Istar.  "You wouldn't want to find yourself plummeting from such a height, would you?"  The words were no doubt kindly meant, Laiqua thought, but somehow, coming from Saruman's narrow lips, they seemed threatening.

"I will leave you now to enjoy the stars."

Before Laiqua had a chance to react, Saruman waved his staff and muttered another spell.  Laiqua was alone.  He looked around at the place in which he found himself.  There was no wall around the platform, but posts were set at the edge at regular intervals. The posts were curved and pointed—like fangs, thought Laiqua.  For a moment, he imagined that he was caught within the mouth of a beast that would swallow him whole.  He began to shiver.  He wished that Saruman would return.  He could see no way off the platform.  He would not be able to descend without Saruman's spell.

Carefully he crept back toward the edge and peered down.  Far below, he could see specks scurrying through the ring toward the base of the tower.  What creatures were these?  Some looked manlike, some wolflike.  Were these the emissaries mentioned by the servant?  Soon he saw Saruman descending the steps from the tower and apparently standing in speech with the creatures.  The posture of the manlike creatures reminded Laiqua of Orcs, and the wolflike creatures were more than a little Wargish.  Momentarily, Laiqua thought of the band that had pursued him to the forest.  He felt uneasy, but perhaps, he reassured himself, Saruman was so powerful and wise that he had set in motion a plan to quell the Orcs and Wargs.  Perhaps these emissaries were here to yield to the Istar.  Mayhap they would pledge to trouble Men and Elves no more.

The manlike creatures accompanied Saruman into the tower.  Hours passed. Darkness began to lift.  Laiqua looked up at the now-fading stars and caught movement in the sky.  Eagles?  Crebain? Something else altogether?  Whatever the creatures were, they were dark in color.  For a long time they swooped and soared overhead.  Laiqua wondered what they hunted.  Or did they hunt at all?  For a moment Laiqua fancied that they were scouts.  But for whom were they spying?  He shook off the thought and told himself that he must be falling into a waking dream.  Suddenly he heard shrieks and howls.  He looked down and saw that the manlike creatures had rejoined the wolflike ones.  Saruman stood at the foot of the stairs seeming to bid them farewell, and the creatures began to move out through the ring of Isengard, past trees that trembled and moaned.  

Laiqua nearly cried out with relief when Saruman suddenly reappeared by his side.

"Did you enjoy the stars?"

Laiqua did not know what to say.  The wizard stared sharply at him for a moment but said nothing further.

            The next morning Saruman came into Laiqua's room as he was tightening the strap of his quiver.  "You appear to be preparing to depart."

            "Yes, my Lord.  The weather will soon turn cold.  I do not wish to delay any longer."

            "Yet there will still be several more weeks of fine weather, and you have seen few of the treasures of Orthanc.  You are an Elf, and, above all peoples of Middle Earth, it is the Elves who appreciate beauty.  Come, let me show you an object rare and enchanting."

            Saruman led Laiqua into a room that contained a throne at one end and in the middle a plinth upon which something lay covered by a cloth.  The wizard drew back the cloth to reveal a smooth, shiny globe, perfectly round and without flaw.  "Come, yondo-nya.  Here is an object of great beauty." 

Laiqua drew closer and gazed upon the smooth red-black surface of the globe.  It began to glow, as if a fire had been kindled within it.  Suddenly his eyes pained him.  He squeezed them shut and stepped back.  

"What is the matter?"

Laiqua opened his eyes and looked at the wizard.  "My eyes, it burned my eyes."

For a moment Laiqua thought he saw a look of displeasure on Saruman's face, but it quickly passed.  "Perhaps later," the wizard said softly.

The next morning, when Laiqua broke fast in the company of the wizard, he announced that he would certainly resume his journey that day.

"Of course, if you wish.  But if that is the case, we must make the most of what may be our last conversation, unless you should ever happen to travel this way again."

The Istar began to talk of the beauty and power of Isengard.  The wizard had a mellifluous voice that seemed to surround and caress the Elfling.  An older elf would not have been susceptible to its spell; Laiqua, however, was soon entranced.  He was no longer conscious of the meaning of the wizard's words but somehow understood that they spoke of safety and the end of painful struggle.  But then, even as Laiqua was drawn in by power of the Istar's voice, another voice commanded Laiqua's attention.  Softly but insistently, Laiqua seemed to hear Galadriel murmur, _"Go to Imladris, O Nameless One.  Go to Imladris.  The Lord of Rivendell has ever been the protector of the young."_

Breaking out of his trance, Laiqua looked full into the wizard's face.  It was a thin face, all hard edges.  The nose, narrow and hooked, put Laiqua in mind of a scimitar.  Ashamed of this inexplicably uncharitable thought, Laiqua dropped his eyes and fastened them instead on the Istar's hands.  The nails were long, curved, and pointed.  Laiqua found himself thinking of the fanglike pillars that surmounted the tower.  Now Laiqua was overcome by confusion and did not know where to look.  He only knew that he wanted to obey Galadriel's gentle yet urgent voice and leave Isengard as soon as possible.

At last Laiqua looked again into Saruman's face.  The wizard's eyes were fixed upon him.  "Yondo-nya, what say you?"

"My Lord?"

"Will you not remain?  As I have said, though kinless and friendless you have been, in this place of power and beauty you would be safe and well-cared for.  Moreover, you are still young, yondo-nya.  You need further training if you are ever to make full use of your skills.  I am an immortal Istar, one of the Wise.  I would be happy to undertake your training, for you too are an immortal and come of a wise race.  Should not Istar and Elf be allied?" 

Laiqua chose his words with great care, fearful of seeming discourteous in the face of such beneficence.  "I am most grateful for your kindness and your offer, but I would like to journey on to Imladris.  I have heard much of the fame of Rivendell and of the Lords Elrond and Glorfindel, and I would like to see that place for myself."

Saruman's expression briefly changed but so fleetingly that Laiqua could not read it.  Was it anger?  Disappointment?  Bafflement?  Uneasy, Laiqua waited as the Istar stared at him and muttered something under his breath, as if he were speaking to himself.  "Do not press forward too quickly"—was that what he said?  Who shouldn't press forward too quickly?  Laiqua?   Saruman himself?  Finally, the wizard spoke aloud.

"I am sorry that you do not choose to remain, but, of course, if you wish to travel on, you are free to do so.  I hope that at some point you shall return this way.  You will always be welcome, and my offer remains open."

"Thank you, my Lord.  I shall remember that."

"You will of course take my greetings to Lord Elrond and remind him that I always stand ready to assist him."

"Yes, my Lord, and I shall tell him of your kindness to me."

Saruman smiled.  He suddenly looked satisfied—and, oddly, somehow **well fed**, even though he had hardly touched the food upon his plate.  Laiqua did not know why, but, shuddering, he again thought of the fanglike pillars that surmounted the tower.


	8. Discovery

**Chapter 8**

**Discovery**

            Laiqua was once again making for the Gap of Rohan, hoping that this time he would escape the notice of any lurking Orcs.  If he could not pass through the Gap, he might be forced to retreat to Isengard, but he was reluctant to return to the fanged tower.  So he crept with the greatest of care over the plains of Rohan, making careful use of any irregularities in the terrain that might provide him with cover.  As before, it was slow going, and he hoped that the rations that he had added to his pack before leaving Isengard would be sufficient to take him at least into Dunland, where the cover would provide concealment for hunting.

Laiqua had passed through the Gap of Rohan and was now working his way north through the brushy terrain of Dunland.  The tangled vegetation might conceal Dunlendings who would be all too glad to seize upon an opportunity to attack a lone Elfling, but Laiqua did not have the uneasy feeling that he was being watched.  Several days went by uneventfully.  Laiqua was able to bring down small game on occasion and felt his spirits rise.  This time he would make it to Imladris and seek out an audience with the Lord of Rivendell.

After several more days, Laiqua came upon an opportunity to bring down a deer.  Through an opening in the brush, Laiqua saw into a meadow.  Across that clearing, still sheltered by vines and bushes, stood the deer.   Laiqua silently nocked an arrow.  Ignoring all distractions, Laiqua waited intently for the deer to venture into the open.  At last the deer did so, and Laiqua got off an unobstructed shot that hit home.

            Laiqua ran forward joyfully—only to find that the deer had been struck by not one but two arrows.  The owner of the second arrow came crashing out of the brush from the left and stopped in astonishment when he saw Laiqua.

            "An Elf!" bellowed a Man.

            "An Elf!? Catch it!  Catch it!" shouted a second Man who had likewise bulled his way out of the brush, although from the right.

            Laiqua turned and plunged back under cover, but as he did so he ran directly into yet another Man.  This Man tumbled to the ground, but so did Laiqua.  Before he could leap back to his feet, he found himself surrounded by an entire band of Men.  One of them reached down and jerked him to his feet.  Another pulled Laiqua's arms behind his back and gripped them tightly.

            "My, my, I wonder where Mommy and Daddy Elf are," jeered one of the Men.

            "And what shall we do with Baby Elf?" guffawed another.

            "That Southron trader should return soon.  He always pays a good price for Elves."  This Man seemed to be the leader.  All looked toward him as he spoke. 

            "Will he want to bother with one so young?  He looks to be no more than twelve, if even that."

            "Ah, but Elf ages are hard to judge.  He may be older than he looks.  And whatever his age, no doubt he's big enough to be made use of in some way.  He is on his own, so he must have some skills, and those Southrons are always clever about making the most of their slaves."

            Laiqua tried to struggle free.  He had heard of the cruelty of the slave-holding Haradrim.  The Man clutching Laiqua growled at him to be still and shook him roughly, twisting his arms.  Laiqua kicked backward, the heel of his boot connecting with the Man's shin on the front, where there was little muscle to cushion the blow.  Howling, the Man let go of Laiqua's arms and grabbed instead for his bruised leg.  The Elfling sprang away but made only a few steps before someone seized his tunic, yanked him backward, and flung him on the ground.  He looked up to see that the Man he had kicked was glaring at him as he broke a limb from a bush.  Brandishing the limb, the Man moved toward Laiqua, but the leader held out an arm to restrain him.

            "No, no, we don't want to damage the goods—the price won't be so favorable if we do.  After all, we'll have to split the fee amongst the lot of us.  There won't be much of a profit as is."

             "True, true," mumbled the other Men.  Laiqua had heard that Men oft times were nearly as mercenary as Dwarves, and he was now grateful to learn that this could indeed be the case.

The Men had taken away his pack and his weapons.  After binding his arms behind his back, they took him to their village and locked him into a shed attached to the side of a barn.  After the footsteps of the Men had died away, Laiqua pressed his back against the door.  There was no give.  He searched the shed for something sharp that he might rub against his bonds.  The shed held only empty grain sacks.  Next he turned his attention to the wall that the shed shared with the barn.  He checked each board until he found one that was loose.  Forcing first one leg and then both legs behind the board, Laiqua began to pry it away from the wall, but before the gap was large enough for an Elfling to squeeze through, Laiqua heard the rattle of a padlock being opened.  Swiftly he kicked several empty grain sacks in front of the loose board, then slid down to sit with his back against the pile of bags.  Two Men appeared in the doorway.  One carried a water flask and a loaf of bread.  The other—it was the Man Laiqua had kicked—carried a cudgel.  Glaring at the Elfling, this second Man stood blocking the doorway.  The first Man strode over to Laiqua and threw down the flask and loaf.  Laiqua looked at him in bewilderment.  How was he supposed to eat or drink with his hands bound behind his back?

"I suppose we'll have to untie him for a bit," grunted the first Man.

"Aye," the Man with the cudgel conceded reluctantly.

The first Man jerked Laiqua up from the ground, spun him around, and unknotted the rope that bound his hands.  Then he pushed him back down.

"Hurry up.  We don't want to spend our evening watching you eat."

Unappealing as the dry bread was, Laiqua felt hungry.  Trying not to gag, he swiftly ate as much as he could, but not fast enough to satisfy the Dunlendings.

"My, my, our guest has such fancy manners!  Look at the wee bites he takes!  Where he's going, he'd better learn to bolt down his food.  If he don't, he won't never get a chance to finish a meal!  Those Southrons don't believe in no long luncheons."

Laiqua hurriedly swallowed a few more bites.  Then he washed the paltry meal down with several hasty gulps of bitter-tasting water.  When Laiqua had finished, the first Man again hauled the Elfling to his feet, pulled his arms once more behind his back, and retied his hands.  The Man pulled on the knots to make sure that they were secure, nodded with satisfaction, and reached down to pick up the flask.  The Man with the cudgel, however, was not so easily contented. 

"Those bonds had better be tight—Elves are slippery.  Here, let me check."

Leaning his cudgel against the doorframe, the Man swaggered over to the Elfling and yanked on the knots until the rope was cutting into Laiqua's wrists.  Before releasing his grip on Laiqua, the Man hissed into the Elfling's ear, "You bring us so little profit, what would it matter if you brought us a little less?  Keep in mind, Elf-brat, that I for one care not if the merchandise be damaged."  For added emphasis, the Man shoved Laiqua against the wall.

The two Men were careful to once again lock the shed as they left.  When Laiqua could no longer hear their departing footsteps, he returned with new urgency to prying at the board.  The Southron trader might not be arriving for several more days, but the Man was an immediate threat.  Laiqua was certain that it was only a matter of time before he would find a reason to wield that cudgel.  The Elfling had no intention of staying in the village long enough to allow him an occasion for doing so.  At last Laiqua forced the board far enough forward to slip through into the barn.  Once inside, he rubbed his bonds against the edge of a scythe until he'd cut himself free.  His arms were stiff, and his wrists were chafed, but he was otherwise unhurt.  He made for the door. 

With a sudden shock of fear, Laiqua realized that the barn door was barred from the outside.  The Elfling knew he would not get a second chance at escape.  He had to get out of the barn before anyone came back to the shed to check on him.  He saw no other door, but a ladder led to a hayloft.  Up he scrambled.  Yes, there was an opening from which hay could be pitched down into a pen outside.  Its door was secured from the inside by a simple wooden latch.  Laiqua released the latch and swung open the door.  He slid over the edge, lowering himself as far as possible before letting go and dropping into the pen, where several cows stood chewing their cud.  One of them lowed nervously.  Laiqua spoke softly to her, but, unlike the horses he was used to, this cow did not seem to be comforted by his elvish words.  Uneasy, she shuffled from side to side, butting into the cows next to her, which now lowed as well.  Laiqua heard voices approaching, one of which he recognized all too well.

            "I'd best make sure nothing has gotten in with those cows."

            "Mayhap you should put them in the barn.  It is getting on toward sundown, and it will be cold tonight."

            "Aye, and then I'll check on that Elf one last time."

            The Dunlending with the cudgel rounded the corner of the barn and stepped into the pen.  When he spotted the Elfing, a gloating look spread over his face.

"I was hoping you would do something foolish, Elf-brat."

The Dunlending raised his cudgel, but Laiqua caught him by surprise.  Instead of shrinking back against the wall of the barn, as the Man might have expected, the Elfling lowered his head and charged directly at his assailant.  Putting all of his energy and weight into his attack, Laiqua aimed for the Man's midsection, hoping to knock him breathless long enough to make his escape.

So fast did Laiqua move that the Dunlending went down without ever landing a blow.  Laiqua must have hit something even more sensitive than a shin, because the Man promptly jerked himself into a ball and began to gibber with pain.

As soon as he had felled the Man, Laiqua darted out the gate and sprinted for the cover of the brush.  As he ducked behind a tangle of vines, Dunlendings attracted by the ruckus were scuttling into the pen, but Laiqua's incoherent assailant was unable to tell them what had happened.  By the time his pain had subsided enough for him to send Men off in pursuit of Laiqua, the fleet Elfling was well away from the village.  There would be neither profit nor entertainment for the Dunlendings.

In the distance Laiqua saw a line of trees and knew that he was finally approaching the realm of Imladris.  For the past several days he had driven himself forward as hard as he could out of fear that the Dunlendings would attempt to track him.  The Elfling briefly stopped at a stream and splashed water on his face to revive himself.  He hoped he would be able to make the final push that would bring him to Rivendell.   Now having neither pack nor bow, he had had very little to eat for the past several days.  The nights were growing increasingly cold; his blanket and spare clothes had been in his pack, and he could not light a fire because he also had lost his flint and steel.  His boots were worn nearly through, and he was beginning to limp; his spare boots had likewise been in his pack.

Laiqua trudged forward until he reached the forest, where he was overjoyed to find a few athelas plants with berries still clinging to their stems.  He chewed slowly as he ate them so that he could pretend that the tiny fruits were part of more substantial repast.  Then he thought for a moment about curling up and resting between the roots of a tree.  The Elfling quickly abandoned the idea.  He would stay warmer walking.  He plucked a few of the withered athelas leaves and rolled them into a ball that he popped into his mouth to suck on as he walked.  They would help him keep up his spirits for a little while at least.

Hours passed.  In spite of the athelas leaves, Laiqua began to stagger and to feel drowsy.  But suddenly he grew alert once more.  Someone was in the forest.  He could smell the smoke of a campfire.  He crept forward until he could make out the light of the fire, then he climbed a tree to get a better look.  From his vantage point, Laiqua peered down into a clearing.  He saw a horse browsing and a Man tending a small pot suspended over a campfire.  At first the Man reminded him of Saruman—old, bearded, and cloaked—but his cloak was gray and his face was not as thin or as sharp-featured as Saruman's.  No, the Man reminded him more of the Istar whom he had seen in Greenwood long ago.

Laiqua's attention shifted to the pot.  Whatever the old Man was cooking, it smelled good, and Laiqua once again bemoaned the loss of his pack and bow.  He had found plenty of water these past days, but he was very hungry.  Should he show himself in hopes that the old Man might be willing to spare a bite or two?  No, his encounter with the Dunlendings had left him cautious of Men.  He would wait in the tree until the Man had left and then check the camp to see if by happenstance any scraps had been left behind.  His gorge rose at the thought of scavenging for leavings, but hunger, while it could not at this point outweigh his caution, did outweigh his pride.  Laiqua settled himself in the tree to wait for his opportunity.

The Man stirred the pot from time to time and after a long while—or so it seemed to Laiqua—ladled a serving into a wooden bowl.  Then, to Laiqua's surprise, he ladled a serving into a second wooden bowl, placed a spoon in it, walked to the tree in which Laiqua was crouching, and set the bowl at its base.  He then strolled back to his place by the fire, sat down, and began to eat his own portion.

Uncertain, Laiqua remained in the tree.  The Man seemed to know that he was there.  Should he not go down and accept this gift of food?  But if he came down out of the tree, he would be vulnerable.  Might not the food be bait for a trap?

The old Man spoke.  "Your supper is getting cold, mellon.  You can eat it cold, of course, but it won't taste as good."

Laiqua remained silent.

The old Man said no more but addressed himself once again to the food in his own bowl.  When he had finished, he rinsed the bowl and set it aside and then took out a pipe from his pack.  He drew a brand from the fire, lit the pipe and began to suck thoughtfully on its stem.  After a few minutes, he began to blow smoke rings—no, not smoke rings, really, but smoke figures.  Fascinated, Laiqua watched as first a horse, then a dragon, then a boat drifted past his hiding place.  At last, hesitantly, he began to climb down toward the base of the tree, where the bowl still sat.  When he reached it, he was glad to find that the stewed meat and vegetables were still warm.  He ate standing, leaning against the tree, never taking his eyes off the Man.  For his part, the Man neither looked at nor spoke to the Elf but quietly continued to puff on his pipe, from time to time sending a smoke creature floating into the air.

Not until Laiqua had finished eating did the old Man speak.  "Well, Elfling, if you will please take a little water and rinse out that bowl, then I can set it aside to dry."  The Man gestured toward a water flask that lay near his pack.  After a moment, Laiqua stole near and picked up the flask and did as the Man had asked.  Then he stood irresolutely.  He did not want to depart the clearing just yet.  It was getting dark, the fire was welcoming, and the Man seemed harmless, even gentle.  The trees cried out no warning.

The old Man looked at him and smiled.  "You were hungry, mellon.  Now I think, Elf though you are, that you feel cold.  This fire will remedy that.  So too will the spare blanket that I have in my pack."

Laiqua slowly smiled in return.  This old Man was very Elf-like in some ways.   He had sensed his presence in the tree and could perceive his feelings, if not his thoughts.  Reassured, the Elf knelt down by the fire.  The Man smoked on in silence for a time; then, as it grew darker, he went to the pack and pulled out a blanket.

"You may wrap yourself in this.  In the morning, perhaps you will tell me a bit about yourself over breakfast.  Sleep well."

"Breakfast," thought Laiqua.  "I wouldn't mind telling this old Man a bit about myself if I can get a breakfast out of it."

When Laiqua awoke the next morning, he saw that the old Man was still asleep.  Quietly he arose and began to collect firewood.  When he returned to the campsite, the Man was awake, his eyes searching the margins of the clearing.  It seemed to Laiqua that the Man looked relieved at the sight of him.

"Ah, these old bones are pleased to be spared the task of gathering up sticks.  Now, pen-neth, do you suppose I could prevail upon you to fill the pot with water from that stream over there?"

"Gladly," replied Laiqua.  The old Man smiled, his head tilting back so that his bristly beard stuck out.

"So the Elfling can talk.  I was beginning to wonder."

Shyly, Laiqua smiled back.

The old Man did not question Laiqua until they had finished breakfast and rinsed the dishes.  Then, once more lighting his pipe, he looked Laiqua directly in the face and commenced.

"I should like to know your name, of course, but I suppose it would be only fair if I told you mine.  Actually, I have many names, but as you are an Elf, I will tell you my Elven name, which is Mithrandir."

"That means Grey Wanderer or Grey Pilgrim, does it not?"

"Yes, it does.  And now your name, pen-neth."

"My name is Anomen."

"That name has a meaning as well, does it not, but in the Common Speech?"

"Yes," replied Laiqua.  "But I do not wish to speak of that."

"Very well," Mithrandir replied.  "Let us talk of another matter.  What are you, an Elfling, doing alone, without weapons, without food, without even a cloak, in these woods?  I can see that you are a Silvan Elf, but any forest can be perilous even for the woodland folk.  Surely you are not here with the permission of your parents."

"I have no parents."

"Your guardians then."

"I have no guardians."

"You are clad in the raiment of Greenwood.  Who cared for you whilst you were in that kingdom."

"None cared for me, although there were some that looked after me."

"Ah, a subtle distinction I see.  Have you any other subtle distinctions to draw?"

Laiqua remained silent.

"Well, Anomen, you cannot count on meeting stewing wizards every night—yes, I am an Istar, as I believe you have guessed—so what do you mean to do with yourself?"

"I would go to Rivendell and enter into the service of Lord Elrond."

"Why Rivendell?"

"Because the Lord Elrond is no friend of King Thranduil."

"I do not follow you."

"The Lord Elrond would not wish to please King Thranduil by returning to him an Elf that had fled Greenwood."

"Hmm, for an Elfling, you have quite a grasp of matters political.  Who was your tutor?"

Again Laiqua remained silent.

Mithrandir sighed.  "Well, my errand does not leave me enough time to return you to Greenwood, and I doubt if I would succeed if I attempted to do so anyway.  Surely an Elfling who has eluded the guardians of Greenwood would have no difficulty escaping from one old Man, wizard or no.  As it happens, I am on my way to Rivendell.  You had best travel with me.  Come.  Let us break camp and be on our way.  Unless, of course, you prefer to continue on your own?"

"No! no! I will be quite glad to accompany you to Rivendell."  Laiqua jumped up eagerly and seized upon the water flask.  "Shall I fill this, Master Mithrandir!?"

"Yes, thank you.  And, please, just Mithrandir."


	9. Rivendell

**Chapter 9**

**Rivendell******

            Laiqua rode before Mithrandir.  "I do not think that my horse will mind the extra weight, what little there is," the wizard commented dryly.  As they traveled, Mithrandir sometimes told him stories about Imladris.  Most of the way, however, Laiqua slept, lulled by the easy movement of the horse.  Partly he slept because he truly was tired.  Partly he slept because he had the luxury of feeling that he was being looked after.  Wrapped in Mithrandir's cloak, circled by a steadying arm, in his imagination he returned to those brief days when he had been coddled and protected.  Although he was glad to be nearing Rivendell, he could not help regretting that this stage of his journey would be short.  When he dismounted from the horse at the home of Lord Elrond, he would be leaving behind the first comforting embrace he had known since his Adar had so abruptly banished the only other person who had ever held him close.

            "Welcome, Mithrandir," chorused Elladan and Elrohir, together as always.  The twins had been out riding the bounds and had spotted Mithrandir when he was still far distant.  Eagerly they had galloped forward to greet him, but they were a little surprised when they realized that the wizard had not come alone this time.  Mithrandir was known to be a solitary wanderer.  Who then, they wondered, was this Elfling who rode before Mithrandir?  They couldn't see much of him, wrapped as he was in the wizard's cloak, but it was clear that his hair was golden, somewhat of an unusual color for an Imladris Elf but rather more common among Greenwood and Lothlórien Elves.  If he were a Lórien Elf, well and good; perhaps he was even kin to Haldir, who was great fun to tease—Haldir took himself too seriously.  But if he were a Greenwood Elf, that would not be so good, particularly when their Adar heard of it.  But why ever would Mithrandir be bringing him here in the first place if he were a Greenwood Elf.  Surely the Elfling must be from Lothlórien.

            "We will ride ahead and let Ada know that you and, uh…."

            Mithrandir smiled at the curiosity that they could not conceal.  "Anomen."

            "…Uh, Anomen, that you and Anomen are coming."

            The twins wheeled their horses about and galloped toward the gates of Rivendell.  

"Mithrandir, mae govannen, as always."

"Thank you, Lord Elrond."

"And you, pen-eth, are most welcome also.  My sons tell me that your name is Anomen."

"Yes, Lord Elrond."

"That is a most unusual name."

"Yes, Lord Elrond."

Elrond waited for Laiqua to say more about his most unusual name, but when he realized no more information would be forthcoming, he once again addressed Mithrandir.

"You have shown great wisdom in picking your time of arrival; we will shortly be sitting down to dinner, and I trust that you and Anomen will grace us with your presence."

Mithrandir laughed.  "No need to be so formal, Elrond.  But I am glad to hear that we have arrived in time for dinner.  A habit I have picked up from associating with hobbits, I fear."

"Ah, yes, your hobby—although I still do not understand your fascination for these Periannath that you call Shirefolk.  Most wizards seem to devote themselves to weightier matters."

"As Galadriel is so fond of pointing out, even the wisest cannot tell the future.  Perhaps the study of hobbits someday shall prove important in a manner most unexpected.  For the present, however, Anomen and I will be glad to retire to our rooms to prepare for dinner."

Laiqua remembered the message that he had promised to deliver.  He did not know why but he was reluctant to deliver it.  Still, he had promised.  "Excuse me, Lord Elrond, but I bring you a message from Saruman of Isengard."

"Indeed?" said Elrond, and he raised an eyebrow.  Mithrandir smiled at the sight: Elrond was famous for the mobility of his eyebrows.

"Yes, my Lord.  Saruman was most kind.  He sends his greetings to you and wishes to remind you that he always stands ready to assist you."

"Ah, that is good to know, is it not, Mithrandir?"

"Assuredly.  For if I am not mistaken, before too long we may need to call a council over the matter of Dol Guldur, and Saruman's help will be invaluable."

Elrond nodded.  "Yes, but for now let us not think on that matter.  I thank you for your message, Anomen, and I will see you at dinner presently."

Elrond smiled at his old friend and the Elfling and turned to hear the report of Glorfindel, the Elf lord second in command only to Elrond himself.

After dinner, Mithrandir made sure that Anomen was settled in their rooms and wanted for nothing.  He then went in search of Elrond.

"Mithrandir, mellon-nîn, you have come with news I am sure."

"Yes, I have much to report on the movements of Orcs, Wargs, and goblins.  A few miscellaneous dragons and trolls as well.  But first I would ask a boon of you."

"Indeed?"  Elrond raised the inevitable eyebrow.

"I know nothing about the care and feeding of Elflings, but you, Elrond, have much skill in such matters.  Not only are you raising three of your own, but from time to time you have fostered the children of your friends."

Elrond raised his other eyebrow.  "Mithrandir, my **friend, what spells have you been casting?  Pray, continue."**

Mithrandir scowled at Elrond.  "You have no cause to indulge your imagination, Elrond.  I have merely taken an Elfling into my care, but the life I lead is not suitable for such a task.  I would be most grateful if you would accept him as a foster son."

"You speak of Anomen, of course.  If he is to join my household, I would like to know more about him."

"I cannot tell you much, only that he seems to have no one and that I sense he has great gifts and likewise shall have a great future if those gifts are cultivated.  Anomen is not his true name—or, perhaps, in a sense it is a correct name but surely not his only name.  Like me, he may be fated to bear several names, each as true as the other."

"His parents?"

"He says that he has none, and, like his name, I believe that to be both true and not true."

"He is from Greenwood, is he not?"

"Yes, but he is no friend to Thranduil."

"Is it possible that he is the son of someone who has fallen afoul of Thranduil?   Much as I dislike the King of Greenwood, I do not wish to provoke hostilities between his realm and mine by harboring someone whom Thranduil would perceive as a potential enemy."

"You have so little dealings with Thranduil that it could be centuries—maybe even millennia—before one of his messengers journeys here and has a chance to catch sight of Anomen.  By then no one may even remember or recognize him."

"His hair is unusual for a Rivendell Elf.  He would be noticed."

"But Glorfindel has such hair.  Moreover, you have stayed on good terms with Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel.  Lothlórien Elves visit here frequently.  If an emissary were to someday arrive from Greenwood, you can easily pass Anomen off as a golden-haired Elf from Lórien.  Look at Haldir!  People are used to seeing him in the company of Elrohir and Elladan during his visits here."

"If Anomen can be mistaken so easily for a Lórien Elf, then why not send him there instead?"

"Elrond, much as I respect Celeborn and Galadriel, can you imagine them fostering Anomen—or any other Elf for that matter?  They are too graceful and refined."

Now it was Elrond who scowled.  "Oh, and I am **not graceful and refined?"**

Mithrandir sighed.  "Yes, but you also know that a parent cannot always be so!  Can you not think of several occasions when you have been driven by Elrohir and Elladan to abandon all semblance of grace and refinement!?"

Elrond grimaced.  Yes, he could think of several such occasions.

            Laiqua watched as Mithrandir finished packing his saddlebags.  He thought about what the wizard had told him and about what it would mean to him.  Mithrandir had a task that would take him away from Imladris for several months.  He would return then but after a brief stay he would depart on another journey.  He had, he told Laiqua, been roaming so ever since his arrival on Middle Earth, and he would continue to roam so until his days here came to an end.  Mithrandir promised Laiqua that he would return to Rivendell as often as he could to check on his well-being, and perhaps, when the Elfling had grown, Laiqua might someday accompany him on one of his journeys.  For now, however, he would remain in Rivendell as the foster son of Elrond.  He would like that, Laiqua believed.  Already he was good friends with Elrohir and Elladan.  Already he felt not only respect and admiration but also affection for Elrond, and Elrond always spoke to him with such kindness that he had begun to fill the place of a father in Laiqua's life.

            "Nomie! Nomie!"  Oh, yes, then there was Arwen, who had enthusiastically embraced her Anomen as yet another big brother.  Elrohir and Elladan could not understand how Laiqua could abide Arwen with such forbearance.  They found it tiresome to be forever trailed by a baby sister, especially when her presence thwarted the execution of some of their most inventive plans.  But the twins had always been loved unreservedly and had never had cause to reflect upon the affection that had been a constant in their lives.  They could have no idea of the preciousness of such a gift.  But 'Nomie' knew, and instinctively answered Arwen's boundless adoration with an equally boundless patience.  Over the many centuries that were now to pass, he would always respond thus to Arwen's demands on his time and attention.

            Five centuries later Mithrandir stood beside Elrond as they watched Elrohir, Elladan, and Anomen at practice on the archery field.  Each was a superb bowman, but Mithrandir thought Anomen a trifle better than the other two.  "Of course," he thought wryly, "I am not the one best suited to judge in such a matter.  My eyes may be deceived by fondness for my charge."

            At length, after the warriors-in-training had completed their required exercises, the young Elves began a friendly contest.  Shot by shot, they kept pace with one another, no one gaining the advantage.  Elrond raised an eyebrow.  "It is quite unusual for the three to earn identical scores.  Anomen typically outstrips the twins in archery—or had that escaped your notice, Mithrandir?" said Elrond, with a sly look at the wizard.

            "Is that so, Elrond?  Well, well, I told you he had potential, did I not?"

            "Yes, although you did not mention that this potential included a predilection for mischief-making.  I shall have to share some stories with you tonight after we have supped."

            "Indeed?  But he has done nothing to shake your composure, I trust."

            "Perhaps not, but Glorfindel may still feel indignation over what Anomen did to his shield."

            "His shield?"

            "Yes.  About a century or two ago, Anomen and the twins were given the task of carrying weaponry from the old armory to the new one.  It was an unusually cold winter that year, and even here in Rivendell the ground was covered by a thick layer of snow.  As you may remember, Mithrandir, the new armory was built at the foot of the hill upon which the old armory stood.  After the twins and Anomen had trudged up and down the hill several times, Anomen suggested that they save themselves the trouble of the climb down by using the shields as sleds.  From the scratches on the weaponry, the armorer later determined that they had very nearly succeeded in transferring all the shields in this most peculiar fashion.  However, at last Glorfindel happened to pass by the old armory.  Elladan and Elrohir were each sliding down the hill at the time, and Anomen stood ready to follow in their wake.   As luck would have it, it was Glorfindel's shield that he was holding.  Glorfindel let out a most un-elvish roar—actually, it sounded a little Orcish, if the truth be told—and Anomen, nigh terrified, dropped the shield, leaped onto it with both feet, and slid down the hill—standing on the shield for the entire distance.  Glorfindel, even though he was furious, had to admit that Anomen demonstrated remarkable agility and balance as he made his escape from immediate retribution."

            "Immediate retribution, you say?  I trust that there was delayed retribution?"

            "Of course.  I could not let the incident go unpunished.  Hunger at length drove the three culprits back inside, and several irate warriors immediately escorted them into my presence.  The next day they had to finish moving the weaponry to the new armory under the watchful eye of Glorfindel.  Then, supervised by the armorer, they were set to polishing all the damaged shields.  I also had a long talk with Anomen.  I explained to him that, although his performance had been impressive, sliding whilst standing on a shield was a skill that would never be of use during battle."

            Just then the two old friends heard a burst of laughter from the young Elves.  The archers were still tied.

            "One more round as a tie-breaker!" begged Anomen.

            "If we're tied after so many rounds, what makes you think one more round will make a difference!?" exclaimed Elladan.

            "Oh, Elladan," said Elrohir, "it can't hurt, and if we do end up still tied, we're no worse off than we are now."

            Elladan sighed and looked suspiciously at Anomen.

            The twins went first, each placing his shaft dead center.  Then Anomen stepped up to the line.  Swiftly he simultaneously drew two arrows from his quiver, nocking and releasing them as one before his foster-brothers could utter a word.  Both landed in the center of his target.  Grinning, he turned toward the twins.  "It seems that I have outscored you."

            The twins gawked at him speechlessly.  After several moments they at last regained their voices and began to appeal to their father.  "Ada, that can't be right.  Only one arrow should count!"           

            "Hmmm," mused Elrond.  "You were scoring by the number of turns, were you not?  Next time I suggest you specify that the tallying be done by the number of arrows shot.  On this occasion, Anomen has indeed won the contest—and justifiably so.  For guile, too, is a skill that a warrior should possess."

            "As you see, Mithrandir," said Elrond, turning back to the wizard, "when you said that Anomen had potential, your words had more truth than you perhaps imagined."


	10. Hope

**Chapter 10**

**Hope**

            Another half-millenium had passed, and Mithrandir once again was making one of his periodic visits to Rivendell.  He tried to never let more than a century go by without journeying to that haven.  He came in part for respite, in part to consult with Elrond about the increasingly parlous state of Middle Earth.  And, of course, he was always glad of the opportunity to check on the welfare of Anomen.  Even though Anomen was no longer an Elfling, Mithrandir still considered himself to be his guardian.  The Istar sensed that his protégé would not reach full Elfhood until he could truly name himself.  The wizard could not know when that would take place, but until it did, he would continue his informal supervision of the young Elf.

            This visit Mithrandir had an additional youngling that he wanted to look in on.  Elrond had recently taken in another foster-son, a human this time and a mere toddler.  Elrond had given out that this child was called Estel.  In that, mused Mithrandir, the child had something in common with Anomen: Estel was a pseudonym that captured a truth.  Both Mithrandir and Elrond knew the significance of the child's name, as did Estel's foster brothers, each of whom would do his utmost to protect Middle Earth's nascent Hope.

"Mithrandir, mae govannen, mellon-nîn."

Mithrandir acknowledged the greeting with a grateful smile.  "Elrond, you look well.  Your newest son must not be keeping you up nights."

Elrond smiled ruefully.  "Estel sleeps soundly enough.  But he is somewhat lacking in cleanliness.  He seems to attract grime and its attendant smells.  He also is incapable of wearing a tunic without tearing it, and he is no gentler on his leggings.  My other sons complain that he is always dirty and scruffy, but he himself seems untroubled by that fact.  Washing holds no appeal for him, and one must practically call in a troop of warriors when it becomes absolutely necessary for him to be scrubbed.  Only for Arwen does he willingly bathe.  Ai! She is now in Lothlórien, visiting Celeborn and Galadriel, and she is unlikely to return for two decades at least, by which time it is to be hoped that Estel will have outgrown the need for supervision whilst bathing!  Meanwhile, it usually falls to Anomen and the twins to hunt Estel down and drag him to the bathing room when he becomes too rank for the other household members to bear."

"Would that Estel causes you no worse grief than this!  But tell me, how does Anomen take to the task of tracking and catching a grubby child?  Anomen has always been so fastidious.  I have never forgotten that, when I encountered him in the woods of Imladris, he was hungry and cold and his clothes threadbare, but he had somehow contrived to stay clean."  Mithrandir laughed at the memory.  

Elrond allowed himself a chuckle.  "I think you will laugh all the harder if you ever have the opportunity to see how Anomen reacts when I tell him that Estel needs a bath.  Anomen is quite good at keeping his countenance no matter the situation, but even he will admit that Estel is the one creature who can bring a look of horror to his face.  Indeed, I have seen Anomen face orcs with greater equanimity!"

The mention of Orcs caused Mithrandir to suddenly become serious.  "Yes, Orcs," he said softly.  "Unfortunately, Anomen has had all too much practice in keeping his countenance whilst confronting those foul beings.  Their numbers are assuredly increasing, and they grow bolder.  Greenwood is daily assailed, and even Lothlórien may soon be hard put to secure its borders.  But in the end it is not the Orcs that I fear.  Something drives those evil creatures, and if Middle Earth is ever to be rid of them, the power behind the Orcs must be uncovered and defeated."

Elrond nodded somberly.  "What you say is true.  But for this night at least, let us celebrate your arrival with no thought of what lies beyond the borders of Imladris.  Anomen will be glad to know that you have returned.  Come.  I will take you to him.  He is with Elladan and Elrohir at the archery grounds."

"The archery grounds?  Do they still engage in competitions?"

"No, Elladan and Elrohir have given those up.  They were never able to best Anomen."

"Not even in a **fair match?"**

"With Anomen, there is no such thing as a fair match.  Did you know that he began practicing two-bladed hand-to-hand combat a century before the twins did?"

"I think," the wizard said thoughtfully, "that with a different upbringing, Anomen could have become a cold-hearted and unstoppable assassin.  It is thanks to his mentor that this has not happened," the Istar continued, bowing toward Elrond. 

            "His **two mentors," corrected Elrond as he returned Mithrandir's gesture of respect.  Mithrandir quietly nodded his thanks.**

The old friends by now had arrived at the archery grounds, where a group of young Elves were gathered on the far side of the field.  As soon as Anomen noticed the older Elf and the Man, he broke away from his peers and began to stride swiftly toward them.  As he reached the midpoint of the meadow, however, Anomen froze at the sound of hooves pounding and a child shrieking.  His eyes darted toward the forest, the source of the uproar, as a powerful horse broke from the treeline, galloping straight toward him.  It was a stallion that had hitherto been ridden only by Glorfindel, but clinging to its back, shrieking with joy, was Estel.

Too far away to intervene, the horrified onlookers watched as the stallion raced toward Anomen, who seemed rooted to the spot.  "Two of my sons are about to die," Elrond thought in disbelief.  "Anomen will be trampled, and Estel will be flung from the horse and dashed against the ground."  If only Anomen would regain the use of his limbs, he at least might be able to save himself by leaping out of the path of the stallion.  Elrond and many others raised their voices, shouting at Anomen to take flight, but Anomen stood upright and alert yet motionless.  At the last minute, Elrond thought he saw Anomen tense, as if he were finally about to spring aside.  Instead, with the horse on the verge of trampling him, Anomen reached up to seize hold of its headstall and vaulted effortlessly over and up onto the stallion's back.  With one hand gripping the reins, the other clutching Estel, Anomen leaned forward and spoke soothingly into the ear of the horse.  It slowed and then, although prancing with agitation, gradually came to a halt.  Elrond and all the others looked on in amazement.  Softly, so as not to spook the still-nervous horse, Elrond and Mithrandir approached.  Elrohir and Elladan also quietly drew near.

When Elrond reached the stallion, Anomen handed Estel gently down to him.  Then he dismounted himself and turned the horse over to the twins, who led the stallion back to the stables.

"Ion-nîn," said the still-shaken Elrond, "whenever did you learn to mount a horse in that manner!?"

"Oh," replied the young Elf with a sly grin, "about half a millennium ago I was looking for a way to pass the time after you ordered me to stop sledding on shields.  You will recall that you told me that such a skill would be useless in battle.  I trust I have proven that **this **skill is of greater utility?"

"Yes," conceded Elrond dryly.  "You have indeed made your case—although I hope that the next demonstration will be far in the future.  Come, Mithrandir, you and I had best return Estel to his room and make inquiries as to how he came to be in possession of such a steed."

The two friends turned back toward the hall.  Estel was squirming in Elrond's arms, so the Elf-lord put him down and allowed him to walk.  Mithrandir was able to take his first good look as the child raced up and down the path.  It was as Elrond had said: the boy was grubby and scruffy.  Grime caked his cheeks and his knuckles, and his clothes were torn.  One arm of his tunic had a particularly large rent in it, and a blood-stained cloth was bound over some childish injury—scratches from brambles, perhaps, for it certainly looked as if Estel had crawled through a field of them.  Mithrandir looked askance at Elrond: "**This** is Isildur's heir!?"

Elrond smiled.  "Estel, come and greet Mithrandir."

"Mithunder!  Mithunder!"

"Perhaps," mused Mithrandir, "you had better call me 'Gandalf'.  Can you say that—'Gandalf'?"

"Gandalf! Gandalf!"  Estel pranced about until his eyes fell upon the sword that Mithrandir wore at his side.   Darting at the wizard, the child lay hold of the haft and tried to draw the weapon from its sheath.  Gently, Elrond captured the youngling's wrists.

"No, Estel.  The time has not yet come for you to wield a sword."

Now that Estel had ventured near to Mithrandir, the wizard found himself wrinkling his nose.  "Hmm," he said to Elrond, "perhaps we should delay the inquiries about Estel's steed until the child has been given a bath."

"Are you volunteering to do the honors, Mithrandir?"

"No, no," the wizard replied hastily.  "I merely meant that you need not feel compelled to entertain me when you obviously have, ah, more immediate concerns.  I shall see you at dinner, Elrond."

 The Istar began to hasten away but could not resist throwing one last observation over his shoulder.  "Elrond," he called, "about Anomen: you might want to reconsider that ban on shield-sledding. As Galadriel is so fond of saying…."

"Yes, yes, I know: even the wisest cannot tell the future.  In the case of Anomen, that is surely the case." The Elf smiled, albeit wanly.  "At least you will have an exciting story to share with Arwen when you travel on to Lothlórien in a few weeks."

Mithrandir laughed and walked on.

            Thranduil sat in the silent room that had once been Laiqua's.  He often came here—whenever his duties permitted him, in fact.  It had been a millennium since his son and heir had vanished, but the pain was never any less.  "Had I kept my son by my side," he reproached himself yet again, "he never would have wandered alone into that perilous place."  Thranduil shuddered at the thought of Laiqua's final minutes in the grip of that web.  "I was no father to my son," he murmured to himself.

            "My Lord."  Gilglîr stood in the doorway.

            Thranduil looked up in resignation.  Gilglîr would never disturb him here unless something was seriously wrong.  "Yes, Gilglîr."

            "My Lord, a major attack has taken place on the southern border.  Both Orcs and Wargs.  The enemy has been driven off, but if they return, I am not sure that the defenses will hold.  I am afraid, my lord, I hesitate to say this, but I am afraid…."

            "Yes, Gilglîr, I know.  We can no longer stand alone, and the Galadhrim of Lothlórien are already so beset by foes that they cannot afford us any aid.  Now we must put aside pride and past grievances and beg Imladris for help instead.  I despise the thought of giving that arrogant Elrond such satisfaction, but the only responsible course is to acknowledge that we cannot defeat this enemy on our own.  Daily the darkness grows stronger; hourly our numbers shrink."

            "My Lord, I shall prepare a company to ride out tomorrow.  If you will permit, I would like to take part in the embassy."

            "No, Gilglîr.  I need you to stay here and maintain the defenses.  I myself will head the delegation.  No, do not look so shocked.  Much as I dislike the prospect of groveling at the feet of a smirking Elrond, it is my duty to appeal for his aid in a situation as dire as this one.  My presence will signal to him the seriousness of our plight.  Confronted by that fact, he will not turn down our appeal for help.  Elrond, is, curse him, an honorable man, even if he is an insufferable one."

            The company of Greenwood Elves rode fast, scarcely pausing to rest the horses and not bothering to send a messenger ahead to announce their coming.  So it was that the Rivendell Elves knew of their approach only hours before their arrival, and knew their identity not at all.  The Imladris outriders would be able to alert Elrond to the approach of a band of strange Elves but of naught else.

            Elrond wondered how it was that his three eldest sons, although no longer Elflings, were still capable of wreaking so much havoc.  No matter how many centuries passed, their capacity for discovering new forms of mischief seemed unabated.  Elrond remembered back to the time—it must have been a millennium ago—that Mithrandir had suggested that a father must sometimes abandon all semblance of refinement and grace.  Perhaps this would be one of those times.  He glared at Elrohir, Elladan, and Anomen as they stood before him lamely attempting to explain their latest escapade, which involved a midnight visit to the stables and the release of most of the horses.  But before Elrond  could speak, Glorfindel strode in to inform him that a company of Elves, riding hard, was rapidly approaching.  The eyes of the younger Elves lit up.  Elrond would be necessarily distracted, perhaps long enough to forget the damage that had been done to the stables.  Moreover, no visitors had arrived in the several months since Mithrandir's departure for Lothlórien.  Visitors meant news at the very least and perhaps additional diversions, such as feasts and other forms of merriment.

            Elrond nodded to dismiss his sons, who jostled each other in their haste to get through the door.  Laughing, they raced into the courtyard to await the arrival of the strangers.  Within minutes they heard the galloping of horses, and the contingent of foreign Elves swept through the gate.

            Their hair is golden, thought Laiqua.  Their hair is golden, and, oh, by the Valar, they are dressed in green tunics and brown leggings.  Greenwood Elves.  He froze for a moment in disbelief and then bolted from the courtyard, leaving behind astonished twins with identically gaping mouths.

            Elrond walked out into the courtyard to greet the company of strange Elves.  When he saw their garb, he blanched and drew Glorfindel aside.  "Glorfindel," he whispered, "you must find Anomen at once.  He must not be seen by these Elves.  He must keep to his room.  Have his meals brought to him." 

            Glorfindel nodded and slipped away.

"Yes, yes," Elrond was agreeing.  "We will come to your aid.  Indeed, Thranduil, we will come at once.  I shall assemble a company that will set out with you at daybreak tomorrow.  I myself shall accompany you, and Glorfindel will follow with other warriors within the week, as soon as an additional group of riders can be assembled."

Thranduil was bewildered.  He had not expected Elrond to be so obliging or to agree to take action so promptly.  Why the eagerness and haste?

That night Thranduil found himself unable to sleep.  He could not overcome his confusion over the reception he had received from Elrond.  Something was not right; of that he was sure, but to what could he point to justify such a belief?  He had asked Elrond for help; Elrond had agreed to provide it, and to do without delay.  "So why," thought Thranduil, "am I so troubled?" At last, Thranduil gave up all attempts at sleep.  He arose and went out into the garden.

Laiqua crouched in a tree.  It seemed to him that he spent an inordinate amount of time crouching in trees.  At least he wasn't hiding from Orcs this time.  Instead, he had watched Elrohir and Elladan searching for him.  He had seen Glorfindel join in the hunt.  At last he had heard even little Estel calling for him.  But he had remained hidden.  Surely they were going to tell him that his attendance was expected at a dinner in honor of the visiting Elves.  But he would never attend such a dinner.  He had no wish to run the risk of being recognized as the son Thranduil had never found worthy of a name.  He sighed and shifted in the tree.  Wood-Elf or not, he could not remain in this tree forever.  He was beginning to feel stiff, and by the Valar, but he was hungry!  Surely everyone had gone to their rest by now.  Perhaps he could risk venturing into the kitchen for something to eat.  Silently Laiqua slid down from the tree and crept across the garden toward the kitchen entrance.  Stealing around a statue of Gil-galad, he came face to face with—Thranduil.

Thranduil wondered whether he had in fact fallen asleep and was dreaming that he was walking in a garden.  He was staring at a golden-haired Elf, a golden-haired Elf who looked like—but, no, that was impossible!  Thranduil reached forward to touch the Elf, to see whether he were an illusion.  But the young Elf vanished as quickly as he had appeared.

The next morning Thranduil stormed into Elrond's room before the Elf lord had even arisen from his bed.  Elrond raised both eyebrows, of course, but he did not feel that his eyebrows were sufficient to express either his bafflement or his displeasure.  For a fleeting moment, he wondered whether he should begin to work on wiggling his ears, but he dismissed the thought.  Somehow wiggling ears would never be as impressive as raised eyebrows.

Thranduil dispensed with all preliminaries: "Elrond, who is the golden-haired Elf!?"

"Golden-haired Elf?  Perhaps Haldir?  He often visits Elrohir and Elladan."

"I have met Haldir in Lothlórien.  This was not Haldir.  And Haldir is at least a millennium older than this Elf."

"How old do you judge this Elf to be?"

"A little over a millennium, I think."

"Hmm, well, he could be one of my sons."

"One of your sons!?  But your sons have dark hair!"

"Not all of them.  Estel will have lighter hair than the twins, I think.  Anomen, too, has lighter hair."

Estel!?  Anomen!?  How many sons do you have, Elrond!?"

"Four, at the moment."

"But I have only heard of the twins!  When were these other two born?"

Elrond hesitated.  "Actually, Estel and Anomen are foster sons.

Thranduil glowered at Elrond.  "I want to meet these foster sons."

"Yes, of course.  After we have driven the evil from your realm, you shall have the opportunity to become acquainted with every member of my family."

"Elrond, I-want-to-meet-these-foster-sons-today."

"Thranduil, Estel is a human child, and he is scarcely more than an infant.  He is not your golden-haired Elf.  And, well, yes, Anomen is an Elf, and he does have golden hair. You may have known Anomen at one time.  When he was very young, he probably lived in Greenwood.  But I do not think he is anyone that you would wish to see.  I believe he or some member of his family may have displeased you at some point, and so I have tried to keep him out of your sight.  I feared you might have been angered had you known that I gave refuge to him."

"How long ago was it that you took him in?"

"About a millennium ago."

"A millennium ago!"

Elrond gazed anxiously at the Mirkwood King:  "Thranduil! Law no le mae!  You look ill!"

Thranduil shook his head.  "I am not ill.  Elrond, how is it that the Elf—Anomen did you say—came to be here?"

"Mithrandir brought him to me.  He found him alone in the forest of Imladris.  He had no family."

"No family?"

"Yes, he has no father."

"And what of his mother?"

"She died giving birth to him."

Thranduil moaned and dropped his head into his hands.  After a long moment had passed, he looked up at Elrond: "I **must see this Elf."**

"Thranduil, I love him as a son.  Do you swear that you mean him no harm?"

"I swear."

The Greenwood Elves, accompanied by a large troop of Rivendell warriors, left that morning as planned, but the Imladris Elves were led by Glorfindel rather than Elrond.  Thranduil, too, was remaining behind, having entrusted Glorfindel with a letter of instruction for Gilglîr.

Once the warriors had departed, Elrond set about searching for Anomen.  Knowing his foster son's penchant for hiding in trees, he began to systematically walk from tree to tree, peering up carefully into the branches.  Finally his efforts were rewarded.  Dozing, the young Elf lay curled in the crotch of an oak tree.  Judging from the state of his clothes and hair, he had been there for much of the night.  Silently, Elrond climbed up the tree and sat down on a branch near Laiqua.

"Anomen, ion-nîn, wake up."

"Why would Thranduil wish to meet me?"

"I do not know, but he seems most anxious to do so.  I have never seen him as desirous of anything as he is to see you.  I think, ion-nîn, we had best humor him."

"He is anxious to see me," Laiqua muttered, more to himself than to Elrond.  "Does he seem angry, Ada?"

"No, not angry, merely eager."

Laiqua considered for awhile, then nodded his head: "Very well, Ada, I will let him see me, although I do not know why he would wish to do so."

Thranduil and Laiqua faced each other in the Hall of Fire.

Thranduil reached out a hand, palm up, toward the young Elf.  "Ion-nîn," the king murmured.

"No," said Laiqua.  "Elrond is my father."

"But you are my son," said Thranduil.  "I am the one who sired you."

"Nevertheless, it is Elrond who is my father.  You were no father to me."

Thranduil flinched with grief and shame.  He knew that his son spoke the truth.

"Legolas, please!" begged the king.

"Legolas?"

"Surely you have not forgotten your name?"

"My name is Anom—my name was Laiqua."

"Yes, of course, Laiqua.  You were named Legolas—Laiqualassë

 in the High-Elven.  Your nursemaid nicknamed you Laiqua.  I had no objection.  It is common for children to bear nicknames.  But did you never know your true name?  It was picked for you by your mother and me a few weeks before your birth.  Greenleaf it means." 

Laiqua gaped at his father. "You never addressed me as Legolas."

Thranduil grimaced. "I'm not sure I ever addressed you as Laiqua, either."

Laiqua smiled sadly.  "You may be right.  I do not think you ever addressed me by any name at all."

Thranduil could not look at his son.  Softly he spoke.  "I would call you Legolas now, if you would permit me."

Laiqua stood silent for awhile.  Then he answered.  "Laiqua is a child's name, and Anomen is no name at all.  Yes, I would like it if you would address me as Legolas."

Thranduil looked up hopefully.  "I would ask of you one more boon.  Legolas, I know that Elrond has been a father to you, and I do not ask you to think of him in any other way.  I am grateful for the care that he accorded you during all those long years when I thought you had perished in the web of a spider.  But will you not visit me in Greenwood from time to time?  I would like to know you, ion-nîn.  Perhaps in time I could become a second father to you?"

A second father?  Once he had had no father at all; now he would have two?  After a long pause, Legolas nodded.  "I would like that very much—Adar-nîn."

In Lothlórien, Mithrandir smiled as he gazed in Galadriel's mirror.  "Mithrandir," Galadriel said quietly, "I know what it is you saw, for it is also in my mind.  I fear that your wardship of the prince has come to an end.  Did you not know that he was Thranduil's son?"

"I suspected as much when I heard that the prince of Greenwood had disappeared in the selfsame year that I encountered a golden-haired Elfling in the woods of Imladris.  Moreover, I had seen the prince once long before in Greenwood, and Anomen did remind me of him."

"Yet you chose not to send word to King Thranduil?"

"Thranduil had to fully understand the value of what he had lost, and Legolas needed the opportunity to heal.  It seemed best to wait.  These things take time, something that you, an immortal Elf, must surely appreciate."

"Ah, Mithrandir, ever the patient one, but then patience is a quality that will soon serve you well, I perceive."

"Soon?  You are an Elf—for you 'soon' may be hundreds of years in the future.   But what do you foresee, my Lady?"

"My own counsel shall I keep for the time being, Mithrandir, for the future is obscure even to the wise."

Mithrandir feigned surprise.  "Indeed, my Lady?  Is that so?" 

Galadriel looked archly at him but continued.  "I will tell you this: One day your path shall again be intertwined with that of your Elf."

 "That does not seem too fearful a prospect."

"It will depend on the path, Mithrandir." 

"Yes," replied Mithrandir, "Yes.  I suppose it will."  He bowed slightly and turned to walk toward the edge of the glade.  As he did so, Galadriel looked once more into her mirror.  Again she saw Legolas, but this time he was alone.  He was looking over his shoulder with a guarded expression upon his face.  Then ripples spread across the water, and a new image of Legolas arose.  He was standing against a rocky backdrop, his face streaked with dirt.  His expression—Galadriel drew a sharp breath.  His expression was one of loss and disbelief.  Galadriel raised her head and began to call Mithrandir back.  But as she did so, she realized that she did not know whether she was seeing something from the past or from the future.  If the past, nothing she did or said could change matters.  If the future, even then, any attempt to evade or change events might miscarry.  A worse outcome might ensue than the one they attempted to avoid.  No, she would not reveal this image to Mithrandir; nor would she counsel him regarding it.  She did not fear to meddle in the affairs of Wizards, but she was mindful of the teaching of the Eldar: _Advice is a dangerous gift, even from the wise to the wise, and all courses may run ill_.

            "My Lady?"  Mithrandir was looking at her quizzically.

            "Only this: Stay well, my friend."

            Mithrandir locked his eyes with hers, as if he for once were the one trying to read her mind.  Whatever he saw—if he saw anything—his face did not reveal.  Instead, after a moment he simply nodded.

            "I will certainly do my best, my Lady."  And then he was gone. 


	11. Epilogue

**Chapter 11**

**Epilogue**

Thranduil looked up as the herald announced the Ernil Legolas.  His son paused briefly to acknowledge the bows of the courtiers; then he strode gracefully and forcefully to the head table, bowed to his father, and confidently took his seat at his father's right hand, leaning forward slightly to smile at Gilglîr, who sat to his father's left.

            "Legolas, ion-nîn."

            "Yes, Adar-nîn."

            "You have forgotten your diadem."

            Legolas tried to look serious.  "No, Ada, I have not **forgotten** my diadem."

            "You have not?"  Thranduil pretended not to understand Legolas's meaning.  "But, ion-nîn, you are not wearing it."

            "Nevertheless, Ada, I did not forget about it in the least."

            Gilglîr shook his head in amusement.   Some variation of this exchange took place every night.

            Thranduil looked his son up and down appraisingly.

            "Legolas, ion-nîn."

            "Yes, Adar-nîn."

            "You are not wearing your new tunic."

            Legolas could no longer suppress a mischievous grin.  "Ada, I am indeed wearing my new tunic."

            "Legolas, your new tunic is decorated with pearls and gems.  This one is merely embroidered."

            "Yes, Ada.  My Edwen Nana finished it only last night.  So, you see, it too can be called my new tunic."

            "Does your Edwen Nana have nothing with which to occupy her time other than to embroider you an endless supply of tunics…and **what is that creature!?"**

            "Ada, that is Annabon the Oliphaunt.  Edwen Nana has made an entire line of them circling above the hem.  See how each uses its trunk to hold the tale of the Annabon that precedes it?  But, truly, Ada, she says that I am not hard enough on my clothes, so she does not have enough mending to fill the hours.  Therefore, she must use her time to sew me new tunics instead."

            His son needed new tunics because he was not wearing out his old ones?  Thranduil did not even attempt to analyze the logic of this assertion.  "Well, for the love of the Valar, put a few rents in your garments, will you!?"

            "I will do my best, Ada," said Legolas with pretend obedience.  "But I have so few opportunities to tear my tunics and leggings," he added, alluding to an ongoing disagreement between father and son.

            Thranduil frowned.  He did not want his son to leave his side, but both Gilglîr and Legolas were now badgering him on the subject well nigh on a daily basis.  He also had received repeated letters from both Celeborn and Elrond, letters that were diplomatic but forthright.  Legolas was no Elfling.  Mirkwood—for it was Greenwood no more—needed his skills as an archer; moreover, Legolas should be acquiring as much experience as possible, both as a fighter and as a leader.  Even Galadriel had sent a missive, reminding him that Legolas, as a small Elfling, had alone and on foot journeyed from Thranduil's kingdom to the realm of Imladris.  He had, she wrote, faced many foes and overcome many obstacles.  Surely he could be entrusted with the leadership not only of routine patrols but even of sorties responding to Orc incursions.  He was, she opined, more than capable.  Indeed, she hinted, Legolas's father perhaps did not appreciate that his son had escaped a particularly grievous peril whilst relying solely on his own devices.  Always so enigmatic, that Lady!  Still, in spite of all arguments, Thranduil could not yet bring himself to allow Legolas to accompany the warriors.  Ai!  He had lost Legolas once already; he could not bear the thought of losing him again.  But each day that passed brought news of more assaults on Elvendom in general and Mirkwood in particular.  The time of Legolas's riding could not be delayed much longer.

            A hubbub at the door interrupted Thranduil's thoughts.  A warrior was admitted.  The Elf was dirty, bloody, and disheveled.  Clearly he did not bring good news.

            "My Lord, a large company of Orcs has barely been driven back.  We suffered many casualties—dead, wounded, and prisoners."

            Thranduil, as King, fought to keep the dismay from his face.

            "Get yourself to the healer, warrior.  Gilglîr …" he began, looking to his Seneschal.

            "But my Lord, I have more to report."

            Thranduil turned back to the warrior.  The King was startled at being interrupted but forbearing because of the warrior's urgent tone.

            "My Lord, once the Orcs were driven back, we discovered that the creature Gollum had vanished, his guards captured or slain.  In truth, we believe that the attack may have been undertaken to secure his escape."

            This was grievous news indeed.  Thranduil had given Mithrandir his solemn oath that his people would guard that creature with the greatest of vigilance.  They had failed in their duty.  Mithrandir must be told at once so that he could take whatever steps he deemed necessary to repair the damage—if reparable it was.

            "Gilglîr, we must send word to Rivendell at once.  It may be that Mithrandir is there.  If not, Elrond is likely to know his whereabouts."

            "Adar-nîn!"  Legolas tried to look solemn, but he could not hide the gleam of excitement in his eyes.

            "My Lord and my Father, allow me to take this message.  You know that I am familiar with the way and that I can reach Rivendell more swiftly than any other rider you might choose."

            Thranduil considered.  Surely this would be one of the least perilous of the tasks that Legolas might try to lay claim to.  A journey to Rivendell and back as a messenger—and he would insist that Legolas accept an escort of several warriors.  Yes, this would be far preferable than allowing Legolas to lead a patrol to the south of Mirkwood, as he had been begging.  Thranduil carefully hid his relief.  It wouldn't do to let Legolas know that he was permitting him to go in order to keep him out of trouble.

            "Very well, ion-nîn.  You will carry this message to the Lord Elrond."

            Legolas arose hastily, as if afraid that his father would change his mind.  "Adar-nîn, may I be permitted to leave the hall before you in order to prepare for this journey?"

            Thranduil sighed, reluctantly inclining his head and gesturing his son's dismissal.  Then, after Legolas had exited the dining hall, Thranduil thought of another reason why it would be good for his son to journey to Imladris.  "It is certain," he said to Gilglîr, "that once my son arrives at Rivendell he will not want to immediately return to Mirkwood.  Much as I will miss him, perhaps that would be for the best, for he would be far from all the dangers of this kingdom.  Gilglîr, you will draft a letter to Elrond giving my permission for Legolas to remain away as long as it shall please either Elrond or Legolas.  Mayhap if Legolas can spend time in the company of one of Elrond's sons, he will be too occupied to yearn for greater adventure.  There is that Estel, now, isn't there?  He gets along quite well with him, doesn't he?"

            "You mean Aragorn, son of Arathorn?"

            "Oh, is that what they call him now.  No one ever seems to keep the same name, eh, Gilglîr."  Gilglîr joined Thranduil in laughing at a very private joke.

            The next morning Thranduil and Gilglîr stood outside the Hall to bid Legolas and his escort farewell.

            "Ion-nîn."

            "Yes, Adar-nîn."

            "At Rivendell you will be the representative of this realm, and you will comport yourself accordingly."

            "Of, course, Adar-nîn."

            "I see that you are wearing one of your better robes." 

            "Yes, Ada."

            "And you have packed your diadem?"

            Legolas flushed and acknowledged that he had not.

            "Legolas, you may be sure that Elrond will be wearing **his."**

            "Ada, Elrond is at least two-thousand years older than I am."

             "You are suggesting that he is old?  He is, as you know, my contemporary."

            Legolas flushed an even deeper red, but then he spotted Gilglîr winking at him.  Legolas occasionally still had trouble reading his Adar's moods.

Bowing farewell to his father, Legolas turned to walk toward his waiting mount.  He had almost reached the horse when Thranduil called him back.  Puzzled, Legolas returned to stand before his father.  Thranduil flung his arms around his son and squeezed.

"Ada! I am too old for this," Legolas whispered, his cheeks now a deep scarlet.

"Is that so?" Thranduil teased.  "But you are not too old to have a stuffed horse hidden under the leggings in your wardrobe.  I noticed that it was very well worn, as if it has seen much use."

"Ada, what were you doing in my wardrobe?" Legolas demanded in mock indignation.

"I was looking for several of my books, which were also under the leggings in your wardrobe.  Why is it, ion-nîn, that you persist in storing books in such a peculiar place?  If you wish for some shelves in your room, you have only to ask."

"Oh, it is an old habit, Ada.  I will explain some time."

            The good-natured chaffing over, Legolas now found himself reluctant to leave.  But at last he nodded abruptly to his father and to Gilglîr and once again strode toward his horse.  He stood by his mount for a moment glancing back at his father, then suddenly vaulted into the saddle, reined the horse about, and galloped away from the Hall.  

            Thranduil watched his departing son until he was hidden by the forest.  "At least this time I will know where he is," he sighed.  "Legolas will not be wandering through distant lands, his fate known only to the Valar.  And he will be in the company of the Wise, for I have no doubt that Elrond will send for Mithrandir once he hears of the escape of the creature Gollum.  Yes, I believe I need have no fear for my son."

Gilglîr nodded his agreement.  "Yes, Thranduil.  Legolas will acquit himself honorably on this journey, and it is to be hoped that he will be satisfied with the adventure to boot.   Come.  Let us share a bottle of wine in celebration of this day.  I believe that your butler Galion has recently received a shipment of Dorwinion wine—that would do nicely, would it not?" 

            "Yes, a raft bearing such a cargo has put in from Esgaroth—and it to be hoped that Galion hasn't tossed out the wine-laden barrels the way he tossed out those Dwarf-laden ones.  Do you remember that incident?"

            Gilglîr laughed.  "Ai! That was a parlous day for me.  You were so furious that I didn't dare laugh, but I came near choking instead, so hard was it for me to restrain myself."

            "I had no idea that you found the escape of the Naugrim to be an occasion for such mirth," smiled Thranduil.  "But let us look up Galion—woe betide him if he is sleeping again!  You and I will indulge ourselves with some of that wine.  Then, if Galion discards the rest, we will have saved one bottle."

            "Aye," grinned Gilglîr, "one bottle at the very least!"  The Seneschal bowed with exaggerated deference and added, "If I may be permitted, I will propose the first toast: to the coming of age of Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood!"

            "Yes," chortled Thranduil, giving way to rather unkingly glee.  "Prince of Mirkwood, but a Prince who shall be safely away from the perils of this realm for the next several months!"

            With that happy thought, King and Seneschal went in search of their wine.

  


Vocabulary

A—'O', _Quenya_, as in 'A Elbereth!"

Ai!—'Alas!', _Quenya___

Adar, Ada—'Father', 'Dad', _Sindarin___

alph—'swan',  _Sindarin_

amlug—'dragon', _Sindarin_

Amlugthul—'Dragon-breath', _Sindarin_

amras—'deer', _Sindarin _

annabon—'oliphaunt' (i.e., elephant), S_indarin___

Anomen—'No Name' or 'Nameless', _Mannish (_Greek _an- 'no' + _Latin _nomen 'name')_

Arwen—'Royal Maiden', _Sindarin___

Athelas—'kingsfoil' (lit. 'beneficial [or helpful] leaf), _Quenya and __Sindarin elements (cf. –las of Legolas)_

Beren—'Daring', _Sindarin___

brôg—'bear', _Sindarin _

cabor—'frog',  _Sindarin_

Caras Galadhon—'City of Trees', _Sindarin_, from _Silvan_

Celeborn—'Silver Tree' or 'White Tree', _Sindarin___

corch—'crow', _Sindarin _

Corchlîr—'Crow-song', _Sindarin_

crebain—'crows', _Sindarin___

cugu—'dove', _Sindarin _

Dol Guldur—'Hill of Dark Magic', _Sindarin___

draug—'wolf', _Sindarin___

dúlin—'nightingale', _Sindarin _

Dunland, Dunlendings—'Land of Shadow [or Darkness]', 'People of the Land of Shadow [or Darkness]', anglicized _Rohirricor _Sindarin____

Edwen Nana—'Second Mama', _Sindarin___

eirien—'day-maiden' (i.e., daisy), _Sindarin___

elanor—flower with gold and silver blossoms (analogous to a pimpernel [member of the primrose family]), _Sindarin___

Elbereth— 'Star Queen' (Varda, Queen of the Valar [the Exalted Ones, _Quenya]), __Sindarin___

Elda, Eldar—'Person of the Stars', 'People of the Stars', (i.e., Elf, Elves), _Quenya___

Elladan—'Elf Man', _Sindarin___

Elrohir—'Elf Horse-lord', _Sindarin (cf. Rohir- of Rohirrim)_

Elrond—'Vault of Heaven', _Sindarin_

Enyd—'Ents' (tree-herders),  _Sindarin _

Ernil, Ernil-neth—"Prince', 'Young Prince', _Sindarin___

Esgaroth—'Laketown', _Sindarin_

Estel—'Hope', _Quenya___

Fangorn—'Treebeard', _Sindarin_

Galadhrim—'Tree People', _Sindarin _

Galadriel—'Tree Maiden Crowned with Glory', _Quenyanand__ Sindarin elements_

Gil-galad—'Star of Radiance' (last High King of the Noldor), _Sindarin___

Gilglîr—'Star-song', _Sindarin___

Glorfindel—'Golden Hair', _Sindarin___

Gûr-norn—'Hard-heart[ed]', _Sindarin___

gwael—'gull', _Sindarin _

Haldir—'Nobleman', _Sindarin___

Haradrim—'People of the South', (i.e., Southrons), _Sindarin___

heledir—'kingfisher', _Sindarin_

hên-elleth—'child-maid' (i.e., 'nursemaid'), _Sindarin___

hû—'dog', _Sindarin___

Idril Celebrindal—Idril: 'Heart of Brilliance', _Sindarin__ adaptation of __Quenya; Celebrindal: 'Silverfoot', __Sindarin___

Im gwennin le—'I am indebted [or obliged] to you', (lit. 'I am bound to you', past tense of gwedhi), _Sindarin_

Imladris—'Deep Vale' (i.e., Rivendell), _Sindarin_

ion-nîn—'my son', _Sindarin_

Isengard—'Iron Court', _Rohirric__ (__Old English isen, 'iron' + geard, 'yard')_

Isildur—Moon Mate, _Sindarin_

Istar, Istari—'wizard', 'wizards', _Quenya___

laiqua—'green', _Quenya___

Laiqualassë

—'Greenleaf', _Quenya__ _

Laiquendi—'Green-Elf', (i.e., Silvan Elf), _Quenya_

Laurëlassë—'Goldenleaf', _Quenya_

Le or ennas—'You over there', _Sindarin___

Legolas—'Greenleaf', _Sindarin___

lembas—'waybread', _Sindarin___

Law no le mae!—'You are not well!', _Sindarin___

limlug—'serpent', _Sindarin___

Lothlórien (also Lórien)—'Golden Flowering Dream Valley,' _Quenyaand _Sindarin_ (Lórien: _Sindarin_ from _Silvan_)_

Lúthien Tinúviel — Lúthien: 'Daughter of Enchantment', _Sindarin_; Tinúviel: 'Sparkling Daughter of Twilight (i.e., 'nightingale'), _Sindarin___

mae govannen—'well met', _Sindarin_

mallos—'flower of gold', _Sindarin___

mellon, mellon-nîn—'friend', 'my friend', _Sindarin_

Mithrandir—'Grey Wanderer' or 'Grey Pilgrim', _Sindarin___

Ná Elda—'I am an elf', _Quenya_

Naneth, Nana—'Mother', 'Mama', _Sindarin___

Naugrim—'dwarves', _Sindarin_

nínim—'white tear' (i.e., snowdrop), _Sindarin___

Noldo—singular of Noldor, 'the Wise [Elves]', _Quenya___

Onod, Onodrim—'Ent', 'Ents', _Sindarin (__Quenya influenced)_

Orc—'goblin' (lit. 'foul')  _Sindarin(from _Quenya_ Orch) but __Rohirricspelling _

Orthanc—'Forked Height', _Sindarin (but also 'Mount Fang' in _Common Speech_ and 'Cunning Mind' in _Rohirric___ [_Old English _orðanc_,_ 'cleverness' or 'skill'])___

pen-neth—'young one', _Sindarin_

Periannath—'Hobbits', _Sindarin___

Quenya—'ancient tongue' (i.e., Eldarin or High-Elven), _Quenya___

raw—'lion', _Sindarin___

roch—'horse', _Sindarin_

Rohirrim—Men of Rohan (lit. 'Men of the Horse-Masters'), _Sindarin___

rusc—'fox', _Sindarin___

ryn—'hound', _Sindarin _

Ryncarag—'Hound-tooth', _Sindarin___

Saruman—'Man of Craft', _Mannish_ (_Old English_ searu, 'cleverness' or 'cunning')

Silvan Elves—Elves who refused to cross the Misty Mountains on the westward journey from Cuiviénen  (the 'Water of Awakening').  See also Laiquendi.

Sindarin—'Tongue of the Grey [Elves]', _Quenya___

Southrons— 'Men of the South', anglicized _Common Speech (see Haradrim)_

tuilinn—'swallow', _Sindarin _

talan—'floor' or 'tree platform', _Quenya___

Tathar—'Willow', _Sindarin_

tavor—'woodpecker', _Sindarin _

thoron—'eagle', _Sindarin _

Thranduil—'Slender Sprout', _Sindarin___

Thranduilion—'son of Thranduil', _Sindarin___

Tuor—'Hero', (lit. 'Quick [or Ready] Strength'), _Sindarin___

Ungolhen—'Spider-eye', _Sindarin___

Valar—'Powers', _Quenya_

Wargs—'wolves', _Common Speech_ (_Old English_ wearg, 'outlaw' or 'wicked')

Westron—Common Speech, the language of the Men of the West (e.g., of the Dúnedain), 

westu hal—'be well', _Rohirric_ (_Old English 'be you whole')_

yondo-nya, yonya—'my son'(formal), 'my son' (familiar), _Quenya___

Sources for Middle Earth Vocabulary and Grammar

Derdzinski, Ryszard.  Fellowship of the Word-Smiths.  Retrieved May 12, 2003, from .

Fauskanger, Helge Kaare.  Ardalambion.  Retrieved May 12, 2003, from .

Ireland, Robert.  A Tolkien Dictionary: Taken from the Indexes of The Lord of the Rings and The Silmarillion.  2002.  Retrieved May 12, 2003, from .

Willis, Didier.  The Sindarin Dictionary Project.  Retrieved May 12, 2003, from .


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